Dancing into Death
by Lithium Choker
Summary: Both Professor Granger and Snape have a foolish common goal: doing what the resurrection stone could not and bringing back the dead, entailing a dangerous journey through the gates to the underworld. (The first few chapters are being re-uploaded after changes.)
1. The Proposal

**Please note: I intended this to be a short piece originally so it rushes right to the cliche awkward bits. However, as I realised there was a lot more to say to develop the plot, they get further apart. I could go back and add some filler, but I've never really liked filler. I'm sure you'll understand. It has been a while since I've written and even longer since I've read a fanfiction. **

**If you've read the first chapters before, I apologise, but I have made some changes that affect the overall tone and characters, so the entire story needed to be re-uploaded. **

**Bits and pieces of M rated stuff in Chapters to follow. If you're looking for very long, juicy scenes, this is not the place to be. But I hope you'll stay for the adventure and stilted romance. **

**[_dramatic bow_]**

**Disclaimer: Thank you JK Rowling for giving me my teenage heartthrob and a female role model my own age. I may be a little older now and yet they're still near and dear to me.**

* * *

><p>Hermione shivered and drew the cloak's hood over her head, a heavy Durmstrang fur that had been abandoned amongst the school's supplies. The blizzard whipped the snow into a spiralled frenzy and she could barely see ahead. The houses, short, square, lined up behind low picket fences, should have seemed quaint. But she knew who lived within.<p>

She halted in the middle of the street. Perhaps she could do this without disturbing him... Perhaps she should turn back. But these were just nerves talking. Pulling the cloak tighter around her frame offered no comfort for the churning in her stomach, nor for the chill that bit through the gaps in the cloak and numbed her fingers. A snap by her ear made her start, but it was only the wind.

Steeling herself, she took a step forward.

"_Vultures_!" a familiar voice boomed. "Leave." It shook the sky like thunder but Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, just a harmless ward. She had expected to land herself in some sort of deadly trap before she ever reached the front door.

She took another step forward.

"You have not been invited. And... you are not welcome." The voice was tempered this time to sound calm, sinister, and Hermione's hand trembled with cold and fear as she reached for the gate.

A third rumbling insult from the sky was interrupted by a sudden silence. Hermione looked up just as eyes vanished from a peering latch in the front door. A second later it swung open, revealing black robes receding into the shadows.

"Get in!" Snape barked from out of sight. "Unless you'd rather freeze."

She shuffled quickly down the path, pulling the last of her fur cloak into the hall before the door slammed itself shut on the blizzard outside. The warm smell of burning wood and some kind of stew greeted her senses. But from the blinding white, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim glow. Once they did she saw Severus Snape for the first time in years. He wore the same, stiff attire she remembered, buttoned so far up his neck that it almost covered the deep purple gashes that lived there. His features had fleshed out slightly. He seemed in good health but he did not look happy to see her.

Maintaining a steady glare, he removed his outer robes and lay them to one side and reached out a hand. Hermione awkwardly fumbled to wriggle out of the cloak and thanked him for taking it.

"Do tell me," he sneered, setting her cloak down carefully, "why is the newest Hogwarts professor here? Are things so dire that you're now scraping the bottom of the barrel in search of tabloid fiction? Journalists looking for the brought-back hero have long since stopped coming here. There is no more information you could possibly extract from me." Thrown, she opened her mouth and closed it.

Giving her vaguely disgusted glance, he turned and led the way to a small living room, decorated with a few dusty, mismatched armchairs around a fireplace ablaze. What would have been a quaint cottage living room was overwhelmed by books. They filled shelves around the room and formed towers on the floor. He had turned some of those towers of books into tables to rest jars of ingredients on. Snape turned and caught her admiring gaze and sneered. She tried not to salivate. There were books in here she had been dying to get her hands on for years, but that was not why she came.

When he gestured her into the least dusty chair, still warm in the seat, she felt strangely honoured. Her old professor instead settled for the footstool placed directly before her. His limbs looked longer, more prominent when he wasn't shrouded in robes. It was an unfamiliar sight. Age had brought only the odd white hair and extra crease to his brow but otherwise he looked exactly the same as she remembered after the war: harsh, scarred, bitter and thin. She gulped as she realised he was waiting with a cold hard stare for her to stop examining him.

"You have yet to say anything, Granger." She knew it but had trouble to find the words when she felt so intimidated by his presence.

The silence dragged and was filled with the warm rush of flames, whispering and humming beside them. She cleared her throat and tried to put on her most professional voice.

"I have come on behalf of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall to offer you the post of Potions Master." Something tightened in his face, as if he had been relaxed before. "The positi-"

"What makes you think I would ever desire to return?" he spat. "I'm no longer indebted to endure that place." She hesitated then resumed her planned speech.

"The position will allow you to resume teaching, with full quarters and access to rare potion supplies. Your original salary will be matched, as well as a fair bonus if you do choose to accept the offer." He bared his teeth. "There are-"

"Quiet!" It was a softly spoken order that had the effect of a shout coming from his lips. Hermione looked into her lap, rendered obedient despite the years since he had taught her. He brought himself forward, locking his fingers together.

"What_ favour_ does Minerva want of me in order to offer me that old position? She thinks me as unfit for the role as you yourself no doubt do." Hermione chewed her lip. "Not only has she _deigned_ to offer me a position I never cared for but she sends her little _protégée_ in her place. It is an insult of an offer," he said, standing and looking down on her with disgust. Taking her by surprise, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her up. "Get out of my house," he barked, with a shove towards the door.

"Please... Prof- Severus." He froze at the desperation in her voice. After a moment of consideration, he pulled her back gently with raised brows.

"_You_, Miss Granger?" She inhaled and held her breath, forcing herself to keep her head up. His voice had softened with confusion. "What could you possibly want from me? And in order to stick your neck out for that offer?"

She closed her mouth and looked pointedly at the chair. He followed her gaze and with a begrudging sneer he dropped her wrist and snorted.

"Fine. Take a seat."

"Thank you," she murmured. His expression was entirely new to her. All those familiar meanings of disdain, discontent and pride were written in his face but so too was interest. He sat before her and leaned in to hear her words. For a moment it struck her that in his solitude, he might actually be glad of the company. But she knew better than to believe it.

Her eyes kept falling to the edges of the deep purple scars that cradled his jaw, running out of sight into his collar.

"Would you like me to disrobe so you can see their entirety?"

She blushed violently.

"I didn't mean to stare..."

"You are _still _staring," he muttered dryly.

She trained her eyes back on her hands, folded in her lap.

"I thought the offer of the job might appeal because it would be an easy role for you to slip back into, a way to adjust to life after the war..."

A muscle in his nose twitched.

"And you thought of this out of the goodness of your heart, I take it? That typical Gryffindor generosity of spirit?"

"I might..." She fidgeted. "I may need your help." It had taken so long for her to say what he clearly already knew. But he was not making things easier.

He sighed and flexed his fingers. Even though he sat away from her, he felt exceedingly close from the way he leaned forward, narrowing the space between them. The fire spat but he didn't even blink. His voice was calm and even like the still depths of the ocean when he spoke.

"You are as insufferable now as you always have been. No more scripted speech. You must lead me right to the truth of the matter, seeing as you lack the delicacy to persuade me into the post."

"I suppose you'd be the one to teach me charm?" It brought the faintest flicker of a smile from him.

"And you're the new Charms professor, isn't that so?"

"Yes."

He appeared to ponder this point. "My colleague, if I were to accept..."

"Yes."

"And," he paused, "since I would be doing you the favour of accepting the position, you'd be gracious enough to, say, complete my more mundane teaching duties?" He leaned back with a smirk. Hermione felt blood drain from her face. As it was, she barely had time to work on this... goal to begin with. Shouldering an extra load of school work would slow things down further. But for the value of his help, it was a price worth paying.

"I will," she said solemnly, "If you will help me create a potion."

"Is that all you want from me? Ha!" The sound of his skeptical laugh rang through the room, startling her. His eyes glittered malevolently and though she knew it meant he was planning a multitude of ways to make her suffer, it also meant he was considering the job.

"It's not that simple."

"So you say."

"I plan to bring Harry and Ron back from the dead."


	2. The Legend of Ithala

He stared at her for a long moment before he spoke slowly, "Prepare to work on that potion for the rest of your life because there is no possibility of creating such a monstrosity."

She offered him a knowing smile but said no more. He frowned.

"You've discovered something," he snapped, voice now poisonous. This sudden bitter rage surprised her. She expected some rage before but had pictured the reverse occurring, rage dissolving into curiosity once she told him.

"I may have," she shrugged, downplaying her theory in the hopes of placating his temper. But instead he reached forward and clutched at her knee so tightly that she bit back a yelp.

"Tell me," he growled, bringing his face close.

"Please. Professor!" she winced. She hadn't meant to call him by that title but it had slipped out in her surprise. He looked down and released his grip but didn't apologise, instead turning towards the fire, drawing in rapids breaths.

"You are getting my hopes up for nothing, foolish child," he said disjointedly, as though the very words were painful to speak.

"They are hopes, but not for nothing. My hopes for Harry. And for Ron. I know they are not your hopes," she snapped, then instantly regretted the immaturity of it. But instead he gave her an unreadable look and muttered something inaudible under his breath.

"You believe there _is _a chance?" he added.

"I think so. A faint chance. I believe that by paying the price of just a few of my own years of life will be enough payment to open the gates to the underworld."

"A few years in exchange for returning a life..." he murmured, awed, bringing fingers to his lips thoughtfully as he stared at the fire.

"There's more to it than that."

His head snapped up. The unease that had settled in Hermione's stomach flared up as he stood up he offered her his hand.

"You can tell Minerva that I graciously accept. I will be moving into my quarters on Monday." Mustering a smile, she stood and shook his hand. He had a painfully firm grip. "And you will be there when I do in order to provide me with the relevant literature. I need to know all of your research."

"Actually, I don't know if I will be able to see you on the Monda-" He leaned in and stopped just shy of her face, the same old intimidation tactic familiar from their classroom days. It was all Hermione could do not to squeak. She was sure the heat from her cheeks could be felt on his skin.

"You _will_ be in my office on Monday," he whispered. She could only nod.

* * *

><p>When Hermione returned to the seclusion of her rooms she was shaken. She slipped out of her cloak, requested tea from the kitchens through the fireplace and nervously paced the room with the warm mug when it arrived. Was this a mistake? She had forgotten the intensity of her old professor's stare. And isolation with his thoughts may have twisted him beyond the steady yet bitter man of her recollections. Was he changed?<p>

She stared through the narrow window to the snowy grounds below. The churning tempest in her gut had not settled from the tea but she continued to sip.

If the war had changed everyone, that was nothing compared to the aftermath of Voldemort's death. The union and comradery had dissolved into suspicion and fear. The atmosphere reminded her of the impressions of the Cold War she was given by her parents, when they were still part of her life: a time of doubt and distrust. It was the Lucius Malfoys of the world that were being sniffed out and hung up to dry, the secret supporters who had been covering their hides for decades. Now they were being run down and jailed. A third war could not be risked with any remaining supporters. But five years had passed since the war, and most of them were behind bars. Yet the suspicions were as great as ever. The Daily Prophet did nothing but fan the flames and write articles on all the most well known figures of the wizarding world, submitting their personal lives to the scrutiny of public opinion rather than offer balanced information.

And Minerva had changed, Hermione had noticed. She had begun to fear for the safety of her children like an overprotective mother and paranoia had taken grip on her mind. There was nothing Hermione could do to assuage it. But her kindness remained beneath the fear and Hermione cared deeply for the edgy yet stern woman.

Finishing her tea and setting it before the fireplace, she grabbed her wand and decided to visit Parvati. The solitude of her rooms made her wistful. She was also still unnerved by her visit. Parvati and Hermione had grown somewhat close this past year. She had a sneaking suspicion this was partly due to the help Hermione provided with Parvati's workload, but then it was that way with Harry and Ron too. But the thought of lounging in Parvati's armchair while she talked about her latest exploits was exactly what she needed.

She shut the door behind her with a deafening bang. These halls echoed during the winter holidays, so empty of children. Most would be sleeping off the mild effects of butterbeers drunk in celebration of the new year. She drew in a heavy breath. The memories of Harry and Ron and their naive excitement over the trips to Hogsmeade filled her as she walked up the changing staircases. They were bitter-sweet and still fresh in her mind. She could almost see them smiling and pulling the books from her grip, trying to get her to leave the library.

Knocking gently on Parvati's door, she heard the cheerful greeting and let herself in.

"You look well."

Parvati was writing a letter, owl patiently waiting on the corner of her desk but glancing up she paused, worry evident in her features.

"I wish I could say the same. Are you all right?"

Hermione tried to compose herself convincingly, but it was too late. Parvati had already set aside her quill and was leading Hermione to the fireplace with a grimace of concern.

"You went to see Snape today! How could I forget? What did he do? Did he try and hex you?" Hermione shook her head vehemently. "I know that he did horrible things to the last reporter who tried to get near him... That poor boy... Unable to walk for weeks!"

"He figured out who I was before anything happened. But I do think he had some elaborate wards set up to torture unwary trespassers. To be fair, there were multiple clear warnings asking me to leave first."

"So he invited you in without a problem then? What happened?"

Hermione gratefully accepted the hand to hold as Parvati leaned close in her curiosity.

"He's... he seems somehow different to how he used to be. Who can blame him, coming so close to death. But he agreed to come back. It may do him good to distract him from his thoughts."

"Different?"

"He used to be very composed but now... maybe it was just his suspicion, but it seemed more difficult for him to keep his cool."

"Do you think that-"

"No, no! He'll be fine around the children. I'm sure of it. He has many years..." She trailed off remembering the moments when he lost his composure before her as a student and changed tact. "There's no reason for him to react in such a way now that the past is laid to rest."

Parvati mulled over this for a moment, and Hermione gave her hand a brief squeeze, feeling reinvigorated for the concern. Her friend was a good person and deserved to know what she needed their old professor for. But she already knew that telling Parvati would only lead to lectures and worries and she would consider it her responsibility to dissuade Hermione from pursuing such a dangerous endeavour.

There was only one other person who knew what she was doing, did not agree but was willingly aiding her search: the ever sceptical Headmistress.

"I need to speak with Minerva. The news of Snape's return has to be broken to her sooner rather than later."

"She'll learn to warm to him again. She did agree to let him come back, after all." Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, unwilling to argue. "She just needs time," continued Parvati. "There's no solid reason to be afraid of him. He's been cleared of any charges long ago and he hasn't said a peep since then."

"But she stopped trusting him during the war. She pretty much admitted that that hasn't changed yet." Hermione winced and added, "And I don't see that changing quickly either. He's strangely scarier than before."

Parvati smiled in disbelief. The deadpan seriousness of Hermione's face did nothing to stop it. She pointed to a framed photograph on the wall, taken before the war with all the teachers smiling and talking amongst themselves. Dumbledore, Minerva and Snape were at the centre and chatting in earnest, on good terms and Minerva even smiled at something they could not hear.

"She'll remember," Parvati nodded. "And she'll come around in the end."

* * *

><p>On the day of his return, Hermione found herself doing exactly as Snape had demanded, dropping her other concerns to bring him her up-to-date research. She hadn't wanted to push the point, to argue with his glare. He had reasons to spare for his snideness and the isolation had certainly not calmed him. What would five years as a recluse do to the mind? Did he correspond with anyone by owl or did he sit in painful reverie for the entire time. How to act around him now?<p>

She decided that she would do her best to treat him as any other old colleague and friend, to avoid kid gloves, though the relationship was entirely new to them.

Hermione shifted the many rolls of parchment in her arms. But with the smallest stumble they all at once tumbled from her grasp, bouncing and unrolling in all directions about her.

"Oh, honestly," she sighed. It would have only take a small charm to levitate them beside her. Even after all these years, she still forgot her powers from time to time. Drawing her wand from her robes, she amused herself by turning the scrolls into an animated parchment lion to walk along beside her. He made for awkward and noisy company as she took the quickest route down to the dungeons.

"That is... unnervingly Gryffindor," Snape said, eyeing it up as he led her into his office. "Is it my literature?" He swept through the room and into his seat with the smooth step of someone who had lived in the room for many years, as though he had never left.

"George is more than literature," she began, testing the waters of their tenuous new situation with a touch of humour, but his face turned sour so she decided it would be wise to hold her tongue.

Now that he was back in his familiar robes, he looked more fleshed out, larger than life, just like she remembered: the sneering, unimpressed shadow that loomed over her as she worked feverishly on potions beside Harry and Ron. How she missed them. How she had unknowingly missed his presence too. The scene before her filled her with a sense of nostalgia and comfort.

"Please," he said, gesturing to the chair before his desk. Resting his elbows on the desk, Snape assumed a pose he might have learned from Dumbledore, a considering stare over locked hands. Despite the familiarity, it made Hermione a little cold. The whole atmosphere did. His replacement had turned the place into something warmer, more welcoming. But now Snape's office had come back to life, filled with his disturbing jars and a weak fire that barely heated the room.

"Do we have a base for this potion you'd have me create?"

She nearly grinned but stopped when his eyes became slits. His question had almost credited her with a modicum of intelligence. She decided to be upfront about their situation, however.

"If I was so far ahead then why would I need your help?"

"Do not test me. Knowing the ingredients and their order isn't enough to create a working potion, as you _should_ know. It requires a working of the ingredients to precise specifications."

She swatted aside the jibe. "I think you'll find, despite what you believe, that I'm a capable brewer. However, as I told you before, what I have is an idea. We'll be inventing a potion from concept. Nowhere in the books does it say such a potion has ever been made but I believe it is theoretically possible. I... I just don't know where to begin. This is why I needed you." She finally met the intensity of his gaze and added. "There is no one who would know better."

"Granger, I do not believe you have yet told me anything of use," he said stiffly. "What concept?"

"Ah..." She shuffled in her seat, entirely uncertain where to even begin.

"Oh for Gods' sake, child! Sit still." She froze but the urge to readjust her position grew alarming strong.

"Must you call me child?" she asked as she caved into the urge and quickly straightened, placing her hands on her knees.

"No," he smirked, playing with his wand as he shrugged. "I could call you... _other_ things, should you wish." She didn't like the sound of that so decided not to press the matter, for now. But she was wary. If he tried to treat her like a student_,_ he could inadvertently take control of her project. She needed equal ground.

She coughed and slipped into the comfortable mode of reciting research.

"There a more than a few legends, with cited magical witnesses, of the dance of the seven veils," she begun. "A story most magical children are familiar with, and in some ways so are muggles. They have their own versions, though I had never come across the story before myself. Like many tales of lore, it passes out of people's minds by the time they arrive at Hogwarts. However, like the Tale of the Three Brothers, it appears that it is not the abstract tale most people think it to be, but the story of a witch who ventured into the underworld to retrieve a husband. A husband that had been sacrificed by her village to ancient gods." She clearly had Snape's full attention. He hadn't even blinked. "The standard telling is that she danced herself into a trance, with seven veils on her hips and a gold coin on her tongue and with those she paid her way through the tolls of the underworld to her husband and was able to bring him back to our world, back to life."

"A fantasy of a fantasy," he snapped, shaking his head, bitterly disappointed. His entire frame appeared to shrink in on itself, as if drawing away and into reverie. The ligaments of his pale hands tensed as he slowly curled into a fist. Hermione rushed to defend herself.

"But there are several verifiable reports from witnesses who saw her emerge from her house, naked, exhausted, on the arm of her husband! His original body was still strung up to a tree. The people believed he was a ghost or an apparition at first until they found the body. Despite those that refused to believe it, with a few years of her own life Ithala had bought him a new body." His eyes narrowed.

"Magic like the resurrection stone? An apparition, not ghost, nor flesh?"

"No. The resurrection stone brings back a shade of the dead, separated by some unseen veil. The story of Ithala tells of how she crosses through the gate... and steps through the veil separating the dead from the living. The body she brings back is not separated from our world in any terms." She realised she sounded too certain. "At least, that's what I've read so far."

There was lull as Snape considered her words.

"And," he began slowly, "you believe, if the legend is true, that she used a potion to achieve this?"

Ah, she had to tread carefully here. She believed in herself but it was not so easy to expect such faith from Snape, who after all these years still seemed to look on her like an unwelcome pest.

"There is no record of the exact magic she used... I have been doing my own research into this and I have been reading for the past two years and come to the conclusion a potion would be best. It is a magic that is carried with the body wherever it goes. Other spells may not function the way we know them to, if brought into a different plane of existence. A potion may not either... But it is the safest place to start."

Snape's eyes glazed over. He leaned back in his chair and said, "Or else you would never have come to me."

"Er... yes. I suppose. I'm sorry if you find being here unbearable. That wasn't my intention." He shook his head but was so absorbed in his own thoughts that she wasn't sure he'd heard her. When he snapped out of it he fixed his eyes on her sharply.

"Yes, it's a pain being here. This place weighs on the mind like a gargantuan migraine and the new year hasn't even begun! You've enticed me with _impossible promises_," he snarled. But his eyes were still unfocused and his choler was half-hearted.

"Not impossible," she murmured.

"So you say."

"There's a possibility. Any possibility has to be fully explored before we rule it out," she said. His distance seemed sorrowful and she restrained the urge to pat his hand as she would a student's. "I believe the key to this recipe from the story, unlikely as it sounds, was the dancing." This was clearly the wrong thing to say, as all the blood, if there ever was any, drained from his face and he spluttered with disbelief.

"Dancing. You want a potion to perform a dance? What muggle innocence is this? I don't recall you sitting through my classes with a cauldron over your head. Have you learned nothing in your years at Hogwarts?" Hermione frowned. "A potion will bring on a dance, and then the gates of Hades will open of their own accord like the arms of an enticed lover?"

"No, no!" She bit her lip. "Not quite. A two-stage potion. One that is activated by motion, not necessarily dancing. For all I know I might be able to walk casually through the underworld. But each step should cause the effects of the potion to keep building, so that it will not only provide me with the entrance, but once effects reach their peak and begin to wear off I am pulled back, one step at a time, like a safety rope, to the state I was originally in. And, all going well, I can bring someone with me."

"Why is the movement necessary?"

"Without it there are snares to keep someone from coming back from the underworld so they are forced to leave their body behind. The stories all talk of traps and demons intent on possessing their own bodies of flesh. I need a potion that _physically_ brings one a new state of being then physically undoes it again. Otherwise a body can be caught in unknown traps, like a dementor's kiss. Soulless, but still alive, the body will wander among the dead. And all that might return through the gate is a ghost of the person, if anything."

Hermione found she couldn't hold his current gaze for long. It had become too penetrating, terrifying, with the same intense focus that she had only first seen when at his house. A true interest. In her words. In her. She looked away and focused really hard on a jar of asphodel roots.

"So that makes it crucial to make sure the peak occurs at the precise time in order to allow you proper access the furthest depths of the underworld." She inhaled sharply. He was taking her seriously, despite the incredulous sneer on his face. He sighed. "But how many steps are there to the centre of the underworld? Will one encounter what legends foretell?"

Hermione eagerly brushed aside her hair and leaned forward over his desk, animating her words with gestures.

"If we can get a potion that simply is activated by physical exertion that, once it peaks, undoes its own effects, that would be the safest place to start. We can worry about access to the gate and the necessary effects at a later stage. The safety of returning to our world alive is most important."

He withdrew his wand and with a flick had her parchment lion, who had been waiting patiently by the door, undo himself and fly into a neat stack on his desk.

"That won't be easy," he grumbled, shifting through her notes. "Don't you have any _books _for me to browse?"

"I could bring you a mountain I've searched through. They are all in my rooms should you need to verify anything but these notes have everything of any relevance from them." He snorted as his eyes flickered rapidly across her writing.

Hermione stood because she felt it time to go.

"What are you doing?"

She froze.

"Leaving?"

Snape pulled himself up, brushed past and held the door open for her.

"You've left this in worthy hands. Expect your first stack of papers to mark next week once the rest of the students return."

"You've already planned homework assignments?"

"They don't come here to play, Granger."

Thinking of her own classes, children of mixed intelligence but generally well meaning (when they weren't getting into trouble) she knew they wouldn't exactly be receptive to hard work on the first week after the holidays. Of course, evidence of extra reading still earned students the higher marks but she had learned from Ron and Harry how much more effort students would put into anything if it were fun. It's why she gave them creative exercises and possibly why she was close with many of her students.

"Yes, but-" she stopped herself. His eyes narrowed. She thought about just walking away.

"But what Miss Granger?"

After a painful hesitation she couldn't think of a better way to express her thoughts than by saying, "The war's over..."

He laughed bitterly, "-and so I needn't continue to push the limits of my students? Continue to be... harsh?"

She lowered her head and mumbled, "I wouldn't have phrased it that way."

"I am unchanged, despite what you may hope. Did you think that all these years I'd been hiding not only my purpose, but my propensity for glitter and swishy showmanship?" His lip curled. There seemed to be a malevolent humour behind his words and suddenly it dawned on her.

"Are you making a dig at charms?" she asked, indignant.

"Do I need to?" he sneered, slamming the door on her so fast that she couldn't escape being knocked on the hip by it.

If she had felt more confident she would have turned and yelled profanities through the door. Instead, she walked back upstairs, rubbing her hip and grumbling under her breath. She took back any of the concerned thoughts she had had before visiting him. He was absolutely fine.

Snape had apparently returned to his old self quickly now that he had his teaching job back. Bitter and stern, just as she remembered him. She could only see traces of that raw emotion from her visit to his house, mostly just the poorly veiled contempt from days of yore. And those scars, still prominent and a little distracting. The castle would certainly be more interesting now that the resident bat had returned to haunt the dungeons, sweeping about during night hours in black robes and striking fear into young children.

She snorted but knew her discontent would subside shortly. He had always made it abundantly clear that he didn't care for the 'silly incantations' of charms.

The sun was lower in the sky than she had anticipated, almost level with her eyes so that it blinded her as she passed the narrow windows. _Oh Lords_, she would be late! Minerva was expecting her. Picking up the pace, she hurried back to her own office to gather her things before turning and running up to the headmistress' office.

Dear, tightly wound, stern-faced Minerva was waiting for her, impatiently toying the rotating contraption on her desk that had once belonged to Dumbledore.

"I'm so sorry, Minerva," she panted, pausing to catch her breath, cursing her level of fitness. "You weren't waiting long were you?" The headmistress shook her head by way of response but turned to look at the setting sun, now a thin line over the horizon. "I'm sorry," Hermione reiterated.

She just needed to pull on her cloak and they'd be ready to leave for the forest. But when she looked up into Minerva's eyes she found her old professor giving her a grim look of concern.

"Was Severus keeping you?" Minerva asked, looking strangely aged since they had last spoken. "I understand if you have trouble dealing with him. I imagine he will find it hard to treat you like a colleague." Hermione smiled warmly and remembered Parvati's words. It would take time but she should allay the Headmistress' fears.

"No. In fact he's already been very different to the way I found him recently. More importantly, he hasn't called this project a folly, although he came close to suggesting my ideas foolish. And he's settled in quickly into his old role, already planning homework."

The ageing witch adjusted her sleeves with a cough and placed a little glass vial on the table for Hermione to take. It glittered in the half-light, filled with a ghostly glow. Hermione picked it up, nodded her gratitude and placed it in the smallest pocket of her robes, sealing the pocket from sight with a heavy ward.

"Severus used to change over the Christmas period. He almost became cheerful," she said wistfully, straightening the rim of her hat. Hermione couldn't picture it. Minerva then tentatively prodded one of the whirring spheres of her desk contraption. "Have you any idea what this blasted thing does yet?"

"No." She had completely forgotten that she was supposed to look into it at some point.

Hermione straightened as Minerva looked her over, examining her as if for scratches. Apparently satisfied, she withdrew her wand and snuffed out the candles.

"Are you ready?" Hermione nodded. "Excellent. I would not like to be in the Forbidden Forest in full darkness."

"Neither would I," agreed Hermione, following her out into the hall. The gargoyle leapt back into place. "Not after last time."


	3. Old Times

Hermione found she had no appetite at breakfast. Despite the comforting rabble of students that now filled the once awkward silences she had had to endure during holiday mealtimes, a sense of unease put her off the lone buttered crumpet on her plate, shrivelling up and drying before her very eyes.

Besides the few moments when she could sneak words with Minerva, and grimy trips to the greenhouses to meet the effervescent yet reclusive Neville, or on the few times Hagrid could tear himself away from his latest creature craze to join the head table, her main source of companionship was the amiable conversation she shared with Parvati.

"How are you finding you new post in Arithmancy?" Hermione asked, turning away from her food.

She feigned a swoon, wafting a hand at her face. Today Parvati was festooned in purple and light golds. Hermione's red robes and white blouse seemed plain by comparison.

"Bliss!" she sang. "Thank you, Hermione, for getting me _out_ of that potions classroom. I never want to set foot in the dungeons ever again!"

"I know _exactly_ how you feel," said a deadpan Snape, passing to to slide into the only empty chair at the high table, beside Hermione, sitting down and promptly ignoring them both, shifting in his chair to face his back towards them. Parvati clapped a hand over her mouth. Hermione shushed her.

"Don't mind him." Snape twitched visibly but kept his stiffened back to them.

"Are you trying to make Snape angry?" Parvati whispered. "I mean, Hermione!" Hermione shook her head and Parvati glanced cautiously at Snape before leaning in to whisper as softly and carefully as she could, "Now that you're a teacher, there's no telling _how _he'll get his revenge." Hermione's first instinct was to laugh but then realised that if Snape intended revenge, Snape would have revenge. Still...

"Professor Snape?" He seemed in as cheerful a mood as she had ever known him to be in,so perhaps he wouldn't take offence for asking. "Please convince Professor Patil that you're not going to hex her in her sleep if she looks at you in the wrong way."

After moment of stunned silence in which Parvati quietly cowered and Snape finished chewing, he slowly turned to face them and assumed a menacing stare.

"I have worse methods," he said simply, eyes flickering between both of their faces pointedly. Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a humorous glint in his eyes. Hermione desperately wanted to laugh but kept her face relatively steady.

"I'll take that as a promise."

Parvati looked between Hermione's happy face and Snape's black glower dubiously then quickly turned to give all her attention to her porridge. A few moments went by when only the whispers of children pointing at the Brought Back Hero filled the room. Those students who remembered him were the oldest. They had only seen his brief stint as headmaster and were amusingly disturbed by the scene.

Hermione was aware that the attention bothered him by the way he kept his gaze down, only to shoot poisonous looks to the odd gaping child. Her memories of him at the head table were of someone aloof, unconcerned by the eyes of students. She turned back to her plate, feeling guilty for being over-familiar. She needed to give him time.

"Who did you force out of Arithmancy?" Snape asked eventually, fixing those sharp black eyes on her once more.

"I- what do you mean?"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose with a long suffering sigh.

"You brought me back mid-year, moving Parvati, as I've just learned, out of the dungeons, giving her Arithmancy to teach. So _who_," he reiterated, "did you force out of Arithmancy?"

"That would be me." The whispering was subsiding and the head table was beginning to empty of teachers. Minerva offered a curt nod to Snape as she passed which he returned. "I taught both subjects. But I had no time for... myself. Bringing you back makes all our lives a little easier."

His eyes flashed.

"That's the reason you've chosen? Are you not going to tell them the truth?" Hermione blanched, feeling her skin crawl under his challenging smirk. It was a provocative look, but she couldn't fathom a purpose to it. Why expose their plans?

Parvati's head had already snapped up and, her timidity forgotten, she had leaned across Hermione with wide eyes to ask him, "What's the truth?" as though she had already guessed that it was merely a flimsy pretext. That stung a little. She thought her excuse a valid one. Teaching two subjects had indeed been harder than she let others know.

Snape's malevolent smirk widened. He leaned towards them both, hair casting a deep shadow over his features as he did.

"The truth," he whispered. Hermione pressed a hand over her eyes and tried to disappear into the comfort of her thick hair. "The truth is that the Gryffindor Charms Mistress has a taste for ex-Death Eater, Sytherin flesh. Her only recourse was to hire herself a personal suitor under the guise of 'professor' so people would never suspect her of abnormal proclivities." He patted her once on the shoulder. Though gentle, the touch burned. "There, Granger. Secret's out. You may as well move down to the dungeons tonight." With that he straightened and returned to his plate, leaving them both utterly stunned. Then Parvati broke into a laugh.

"Professor Snape, I don't believe we've met," chuckled Parvati, reaching out a hand to shake his. He gave it withering look and she withdrew it. "Or perhaps we have." Hermione's stomach was now doing somersaults, making the plain crumpet even less appealing. She wanted to hex it out of existence.

Sinistra gave them a very them a curious look as she walked past and Hermione realised for the first time the amount of stares directed their way, not from the students, as expected, but the other teachers as they watched the mythical Snape practically banter, and voluntarily at that.

But the moment died a painful death and awkward silence resumed while Pavarti quietly munched with her head down and Hermione stared at her plate, hoping her Daily Prophet would arrive soon.

"Oh!" Parvati exclaimed, dropping her spoon. "I remembered what I wanted to ask you, Hermione. Last night I saw you and Minerva coming back from the Forbidden Forest." Hermione's stomach dropped further. "What was that all about?"

"I would also much like to hear what business you had in the forest after hours," Snape said darkly. She gave him a pleading look. It was for her project, their project, and she tried to convey this via her expression but was met with one of contained fury.

"It's nothing," she said with an apologetic smile at Parvati. "We wanted to find a centaur to talk to about why some of the animals have been disappearing. Nothing to worry about."

"Okay. I mean, it's none of my business but you did look a little... dishevelled."

"Oh, that... " she recalled the state both she and poor old Minerva had been in when they stumbled back out of the forest. A little scratched, clothes torn and a cape lost to the good of the cause. "We were accosted briefly on our way back. But, like I said, nothing to worry about," she said again. "You worry too much."

The mood of the conversation shifted and Snape quietly ignored them. However, once Hermione finally got up to leave, abandoning any pretence of eating the crumpet but gulping down her tea, he dropped his fork and silently followed Hermione out of the hall, close on her heels.

Once they were out of hearing range of any students, by the staircase, she wheeled on him.

"Did you want something? Perhaps more secrets to dangle before Parvati?" she asked, hands on her hips. He ignored the jibe and in a flat, serious tone asked her what she had been doing in the forest. His steady glare made it very difficult to look directly at him. "Collecting stray unicorn hairs."

"They're found quite deep in the forest," he stated bluntly. She folded her arms. "Where less... _savoury_ creatures make their home."

"Is that so?"

She hadn't expected the dynamic between them to be perfectly smooth, but this uncomfortable exchange was not something she had anticipated. He looked ruffled and his jaw was taut, as though gritting his teeth. When he spoke next, his voice chilled her to the bone.

"If you had died last night you would have taken your secrets with you." She flinched. "And I can't have that." He inhaled deeply before stating in a calmer voice, "I cannot. You are to discuss any dangerous future excursions with me personally, understood?"

Despite being touched by the genuine concern in his voice, she also felt frustration. He did not yet know enough to be making demands. How else was she supposed tso be procuring the hairs? And did he really think Minerva would allow her to be unduly placed in harm's way? Snape's domineering manner no longer made her tremble nearly as much as it used to, despite the way he loomed over her, backing her up against the banister and blocking out the candlelight glow from the great hall. She did not want to give him power over her.

"What makes you think you are entitled to treat me like a student? I would appreciate it if you didn't order me around like one." She was calm, professional, but some of the old fear returned as she saw the danger in his expression. The muscles in his pale jaw quivered. His shoulders were taught. It looked as if he would have no trouble at all strangling her where she stood.

"If I have to keep you from harm's way by force," he snarled, bearing down on her with a pointed finger, "then I will. I'd have thought a gentlemanly offer would be sufficient."

"Then it's a shame you didn't proffer one," she retorted, giving him her back and stalking off.

She could have been mistaken but Hermione thought she felt the minor tingle of magic touch the skin of her back through her red robes as she walked away, though when she turned Snape was sweeping down the corridor to the dungeons. Like a bat.

Like old times.

* * *

><p>Severus rubbed his throbbing forehead as the facts began to fall into place. Brief as they were, Granger's notes were thorough. The single parchment telling the original story contained over one hundred hand-written citations alone, in minuscule script. And it was an unusual story.<p>

The witch Ithala had been persuaded to pursue her husband against her better judgement. He was a cruel man who had treated her poorly but was generous to his sons. They had been the ones she made the journey for.

After some months in isolation, in which even her lover no longer knew her, she was seen on the arm of her husband's new youthful body, while she had become pale, haggard and aged.

The rest of the story contained alternative recounts of Ithala's telling of her adventure. Whether she had used veils or layers of clothing or seven items that represented her femininity was disputed but she had still used a gold coin on her tongue to pay the ferryman to cross the river, and her seven items to pay her way past the guardians of the underworld after hours of dancing herself into a trance.

What worried Severus was the thin details of how she got back. Were the gates kept open for her? Was there an alternative route? Was the factor of not being seen for months relevant to the creation of a potion or the amount of time spent in the underworld? And, most importantly, was a potion necessary or even wise to replicate Ithala's magic?

But after hours of thought and reading, in which his back began to ache and his neck stiffened, he decided it was definitely the most logical route for them to begin. If it proved false hope, which he was certain it would, that did not mean he would let Granger continue alone. Severus shuddered. The thought of spending year after year in close quarters with this once-student who failed to demonstrate the tiniest shred of respect was fairly abhorrent, but nothing he wouldn't brave for her. For Lily. If he could give her any form of life in exchange of his own, he had to. He had to pay for the life that had been taken. She may not want his offer of life, but he owed her the choice. if he could give it.

He leaned back and rolled his head to relieve the tension Granger had caused. Insufferable... Then again, teaching would be a lot more bearable without papers to mark.

An object in his pocket began to heat up and vibrate. Severus allowed himself a deep inward sigh before he retrieved the smooth flat pebble he kept there. It had turned from pale green to orange and was rapidly turning red. An indication that Granger was back in the forbidden forest, probably with Minerva. Their secrecy reminded him uncomfortably of the days of his and Dumbledore's conspiring.

Pulling on his cloak and snatching up a potion to help keep him unseen, he marched out of the classroom, cursing Gryffindor bravery for its stupidity. It was one thing for her to symbolically defy him. He partially understood the need for her to break free from the association of being a student, although it was something that he felt had always suited her greatly. It was another thing entirely to step into the depths of the dark forest.

If she hadn't walked away he would have told her of his own personal supply of unicorn hairs. How fresh could she need them to be?

* * *

><p>Once Granger and the Headmistress had returned to the stone steps, safe thanks to his careful distant spying, he left them to their goodbyes and slipped past to return to the dungeons and consume the antidote to his partial 'invisibility'.<p>

It was well he'd been quick because he had not anticipated Granger would come straight to see him.

The knock did not startle him. What did was the fact she entered before he commanded her to do so, forcing him to hide the empty vial behind his back.

"What is this!" he snarled, "Other colleagues show more respect than you."

She frowned and looked about as if to make a point.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"The point is that you may have been."

"Oh." She looked apologetic but her tone was still curt. She clearly hadn't forgotten their previous conversation. After a beat he gestured her into the chair before his desk, quickly slipping the vial into his pocket as she passed.

"I will cut to the chase on one matter," he said as he moved round to sit, "that of unicorn hairs. If you had not been so... temperamental after breakfast, I might have had the opportunity to inform you of my own, personal supply."

Ah, that flapping mouth, a sign of shock, annoyance and, delightfully, the inability to respond. Despite a small twinge of guilt, the smirk was already forming on his lips as he raised a brow and feigned concern.

"You weren't so stubborn as to return there again were you?" The over-pronounced inflection of curiosity in his voice is what tipped her off, he noted. She glowered.

"You already know the answer. I _knew_ it."

"Yes." His expression darkened enough to match hers. Granger opened her mouth as if to fight but settled back, sulkily, chin against her chest and hid behind her frizzy mass of curls. "You might want to provide me with the list of ideal ingredients you are searching for. It appears to be missing from my literature."

She said nothing but folded her arms and offered a small nod.

"With that said and done," Severus said, brushing aside the parchment, "what reason do you have for bursting in here as you did?"

She seemed to regain some of her adult mannerisms, adjusting her spine and donning her professionalism that she may have borrowed from Minvera for its uncanny resemblance.

"Are you capable of analysing unicorn hairs for gender?"

"An unusual question." She nodded. "Does it matter?"

"I believe so. Peculiar as it sounds, in half of the accounts Ithala seemed to make her way through the underworld by playing up to her female assets. It might be nothing. But it might be considerably important and considering how little we have in the form of information, considering everything in the reports would be for the best. Perhaps for a male, the same thing applies. It would be better to stay cautious and tailor a gender-specific potion, even if in reality it makes no difference." Gender-specific? Did she really think he would let her go to hell alone?

"What of me?" It burst from his lips before he could phrase it delicately. He felt his face burn with rage but brought it under control this time, though the close inspection from curious eyes only enraged him further.

"What _of_ you?" she said slowly. He gritted his teeth, determined not to talk until his thoughts cleared. Her continued stare kept them muddled.

She gasped. He closed his eyes in exasperation.

"You're after Lily!"

"I would have thought it was obvious to you," he sneered.

"Yes, I should- I'm sorry, it didn't seem- I didn't think-"

"Stop stammering, child!" he burst out, slamming his hands on the desk and standing. Not for the first time, he was vaguely aware that he lacked self-control. Granger was stammering slightly.

"I don't even know if I can bring back one, let alone three, but..." She winced and looked up with knitted brows. "What if she won't come back without..?"

"When it comes to selfishness over those we care for, we're of equal mind, Granger. But her choice is her own. I'm not afraid of her remaining below. I just... I have to offer her the chance."

There was a rush of wind and a singular solid force hit him in the chest, nearly knocking him off his feet. Once the stars receded from his eyes he realised Granger had attacked him with a lethal hug.

Panicked, he bellowed "Get off!"

"Not a chance," she sniffed, hanging onto him with a death grip, tearing out more than a few of the hairs on his head in her choking arms. Whether the heat was generated by his embarrassment or her young body, he could not say but the whole situation was uncomfortably hot. He cringed and with a thumb and forefinger tried to peel her limbs away one at a time. No such luck.

He considered trying to draw his wand but it was firmly crushed between them.

When she was finally done embarrassing them both, she dropped back onto her feet, adjusting her scarlet robes and running fingers through her mane. She looked both pathetically sad and satisfied with the uncomfortable position Severus was frozen in. Giving him a watery smile, Granger turned and left without another word.

"Child. You are a bawling _child_," he called after her as she shut the door, struggling to deny that he had drawn a strange satisfaction from the strength of her grip.

* * *

><p>Two hours later over a steaming cauldron and Severus was still cursing Granger under his breath. Foolish creature to think that he was as much a pile of emotional putty as any lovesick teen. His pain was steady, incurable and set in stone. He shook his head to remove thoughts of her.<p>

She had given him a unique gender-defining task and it looked as if he was already close to completing it. He smirked into the fumes of his brew. The girl would never have been able to discover a diagnostic potion so quickly, no matter how capable she claimed to be. All books and no creativity. Whatever ingenuity Granger had was confined to what she already knew. It took great leaps to make great magic.

He read over the notes of his ingredients and methods then leaned over the potion and inhaled cautiously. Everything seemed in order. He placed one of his own unicorn hairs on the cutting surface and sliced the smallest piece possible from it, hoping that would be enough of this expensive ingredient to perform diagnostics. He dropped it in the silver mixture which began to swirl into a green like raging seas, sparkling where the light touched it. A male unicorn hair.

Severus curled up the parchment and tucked it into the front pocket of his robes, rushing out of the room. There was no need for his hurry to tell the girl. He didn't require approval but something in him, something he had forgotten about for years, felt the need to share his satisfaction. It deserved some credit, after all.

She wasn't in her office, or her classroom, and he only hesitated for a second before storming Professor Flitwick's old quarters, much in the same way that she had burst in on him earlier. Well, she had left them unlocked.

As quietly as he moved, he twisted the handle and peered around the door before he froze, physically winded by what he saw. In the living room of her quarters, tediously decorated in lush reds and golds, Granger sat naked before the fire on the edge of an armchair, towelling her wet hair.

Time froze as his heart sped up. He hadn't felt an adrenaline rush this strong since the war. When she stood the view only improved. Severus couldn't look away, couldn't, against his will, stop examining every detail of her form, rounded thighs, the almost concave stomach of an underfed bookworm and light tan nipples on her small breasts. She made no move to cover herself, rubbing at her hair as she strode out of sight into the bedroom.

Once she was gone he finally mustered enough control to turn around and put his back to to the scene, closing the door as quietly as he was able and thanking all the gods he could name.

"I sincerely apologise, Miss Granger," he murmured under his breath, closing his eyes. After waiting a moment for his heart to calm, he turned and fled. Tomorrow, he'd tell her tomorrow.

He could also do with being a touch more civil towards her. And, in the meantime, he'd forget what he saw.

He shivered. What an eventful day...

* * *

><p>Severus found himself grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Although he was alone at his desk he composed himself, adjusting his robes, rubbed his face and brushed stray hairs into place. It was surreal that only a month ago he had been wallowing, <em>wallowing<em> in both misery and boredom. Now he not only had a purpose to his day, but he also had some, not displeasing, thoughts to occupy his mind. Not that he should be dwelling. He quelled the start of a smirk. Focus, Severus, on the task at hand.

Retraining his thoughts, he frowned at the parchment before him. A fine list of ingredients the Granger woman had provided. Half were near impossible to locate, the other half he doubted were actually of any use to them. He set quill to parchment and began scratching through some, ticking those he already possessed and leaving brief but scathing comments beside the rest.

"I have hit on gold!" Granger shouted as she burst in on him, causing him to blot his ink. He passed a hand over it with a pointed glare and vanished the stain.

"What have you found?" Her face was flushed with excitement and her hair near-electrified from what must have been a run down three flights of stairs.

"A fresh account of Ithala, a credible one too!" He sat straighter. "This is from an ancestor of Rowena Ravenclaw! The accounts of the founders of Hogwarts were the last place I planned on searching for information but I was feeling nostalgic," she blushed "and started thumbing through _Hogwarts: A History_ when I found a footnote of the extensive ancestral records that were kept of all four. It didn't take much searching to find something from the right time frame. But I never expected... Never thought-!" He hushed her with a wave of his hand.

"Read it."

"It's... well, there's no need. It's a small bit of Ithala's own voice embroidered into the calf skin page, followed by a brief annotation. Here." She pulled out her wand with a quick glance at him and set its tip to the book in her arms.

A deep, sultry female voice spoke in a foreign tongue, soon translated into English under Granger's muttered spell. "He is the burden I bear for my children, my winter. For six months of every year I must hide from my lover and my people. My children? Dead. They did not think to take him with them. Come, my winter, do not shy away from company. You used to love the revelries. No? No. There is nothing of interest in the living now you have the secrets of the dead. I understand too well, husband, too well. He longs for the river to bathe his rotting soul. Do not mind him. I am glad you are here to visit my friend. He would have me go insane."

Severus let a few moments pass to be sure the stream of words had come to an end.

"Ithala's own voice," Granger murmured in awe, withdrawing her wand. "It's phenomenal."

He reserved his own broiling thoughts and nodded.

"Proceed with the description." It might clear his newest doubts.

She adjusted the book in her grip, setting it down on the desk and leaning forward, close enough almost to press her nose to the page. As she read she gained both poise and focus she normally didn't possess, like a bird that totters through conversation but takes flight in books.

"Autumn, Castle Igneous. Ithala's summons. Found myself invited this year. Have not seen her since the fabled journey. Curious to see for myself if the stories are true and a young husband hangs on her arm. Dead and angelic indeed. Barely through the gates and greeted by an apparition of the past, all health, no damage, fresh white teeth, pure clean skin. He puts all mortals to shame. Ithala on her throne, wizened, tired. Something dark about it all." Granger paused and glanced up at him. She was still breathless with excitement. He shared the sentiment. "The writing changes here, from quickly scribbled to neat and thought out."

There was perhaps more colour than usual in her full cheeks. Severus found his gaze wandering lower before he stopped himself.

"Ithala's magic is deeper than most of us suspected. She truly is a queen among witches. Her castle is full of tricks and games and half her guests never make it to dinner for getting lost in the caverns and tunnels. She had me up in the seat of honour beside her this night. The seat is always for guests, as her husband does not feed. He has no need and sits on the throne at the end of the room beside her own empty one , sulking as he did for most of my stay. Ithala herself is in good spirits. It is the night to see her husband through the gate. We were all invited to watch. She explains the gate. It is tied to her, will open for her husband every half year for him to pass in and out. If he refuses, he is forced. This is why he sulks. Because he does not love her but must keep close. The music starts and tables are swept back for the commencement of a ball. Through the night and the dancing, a gate forms in the centre of the room, an archway a good head above the tallest among us, stone in texture once it becomes solid, and with a simple stone grid forbidding access through it. Ithala stops the music and stands before the gate, pressing her flesh against it."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"Please!" she snapped, not looking up. Huffing at his interruption, she continued with her speech. "The grid melts away into the solidity of the darkness therein. She pulls her husband from his throne and offers him to the gate. Another guest asks to step through with him. Ithala refuses. She tells him he is unprepared to find his way back and pushes her husband into the void. Once he is gone the dance resumes and the gate begins to fade." She finally lifted her head.

"He could only return to the world for six months of the year?" he ventured, assuming it safe to speak.

"From what I gather here..." she frowned, rescanning the page she had probably already memorised. "But for every remaining year of her life." He examined her, looking young and uncertain for a moment as she cradled the book in her arms and met his eyes imploringly, waiting for his opinion.

"Is that quite what you hoped for?" The question seemed to produce a highly undesirable effect. Granger's eyes welled.

"What if they hate being back with the living too? What if they hate me for finding them? Her husband... he didn't sound _human_. Was it really dark magic, like this source suggests?" Oh lords. Severus tried to muster up some warmth to his voice and avoid frustration.

"That is just speculation. There's nothing we've seen so far to suggest that she made use of dark magic."

"Except for the amount of power required... the unnaturalness of it..."

"You are second-guessing your work. Do not do that." She bit her lip. "We have... hope."

"Should we?" her eyes glazed. He could sense he was beginning to lose her to the demons of her uncertainties. It needed to be snuffed out now, so that she wouldn't sabotage them months down the road. "You say 'we' as if we are in this together, united. But I'm... I am just a thorn in your side. You are used to being alone but I am not. I miss Harry and I miss Ron and I have been driven mad looking for ways to bring them back to me. I'm afraid. I'm afraid that I might have stumbled onto dark magic but I'd be too blind to see. And you," she fixed him with an unfocused, unblinking stare, "I can't be sure. I could never be sure that you wouldn't use dark magic as long as it meant you could see Lily one more time. I can't trust that you won't mislead me, won't push me into doing something I'll regret-"

"Quiet, Granger," he said, softly but firmly. She did as told but there was bitterness in the way she held her mouth. "I believe I begin to fathom the curious workings of your head and," he forced a smile as he imagined Minerva would have used to give to comfort, "you are wrong. I have scruples and I would not lead you to perform dark magic for my own gains." He stepped closer so he could rest a hand on her shoulder. The effort involved was monumental. "Why don't you get some rest. Perhaps I ought to give you a little less work to mark? It appears to be taking its toll."

She nodded and closed her eyes. It gave him the opportunity to use the hand on her shoulder to guide her from his office and dump her in the dungeon corridor before she could consider embracing him again.

* * *

><p>Hermione blinked and adjusted her eyes to the excessive dimness of the corridor outside Snape's office. Insensitive old bat, calming her just in order to clear her out of his classroom. It did give her a sense of comfort though. For a terrifying moment it almost seemed as if he had cared.<p>

She swore as she realised she had left the book behind and sighed. He could keep it for now. She had other things to occupy her and she had already memorised the thing back to front and inside out.

For one thing, she had to have a talk with Minerva about what she had learned. It surprised her that Snape showed no interest in Minerva's role in all this. Had he failed to perceive her hand in the field research? Or did he simply not question it?

She found Minerva in her quarters instead of the office. This usually was the case because, as Minerva said and Hermione agreed, it still felt too much like Dumbledore's space. Miverva's quarters, on the other hand, were much like Hermione's, draped with the familiar red and golds of Gryffindor, reminding her of the common room and dorms she had spent her adolescent years in. She had set up a grand desk and guest chairs where there ought to have been living space, before the hearth.

They spoke briefly on trivial topics as the headmistress poured tea for the two of them, the latest magical news and which students had been causing the most trouble in her class, until they moved to the more serious discussion of Snape. It was clearly the topic at the forefront of Minerva's mind.

"He has taken nearly fifty points from Gryffindor since being here three weeks!" she grumbled, stirring her tea and tapping the teaspoon twice before placing delicately it on the saucer. "It is enlightening to see how much of his personality was genuine from before."

"Most of it," Hermione smiled. She paused before she burst out, "Tell me honestly, Minerva, do you want to see him gone? Are you still at all wary of him?"

Her eyes flickered.

"How can I be?" she said hesitantly, "Dumbledore's closest conspirator for the light?" But her tight face tightened further as she took a short sip from her cup.

"You can speak freely with me, Minerva." Hermione let none of her own feelings colour her voice. "But you have no reason to be wary." This seemed to awaken the more pensive side of her colleague as she sighed and leaned back into her chair. Hermione couldn't help noticing how much older this made her seem.

"To have two illusions of him shattered... Good for bad. Bad for good. I suppose one might say I'm waiting for this illusion to shatter also." Hermione nodded. Outside the window came the distant shrieks of laughter from students enjoying the snow. "But I agree, he is a good wizard. It's just an unshakable sense that things aren't what they seem."

Hermione opened then closed her mouth as Minerva polished off a biscuit. "Lets finish up here and go visit your two boys? It's been a while, hasn't it?" It had indeed. The swelling in her throat reminded her of how sore the wound still was and she choked down the last of her own ginger snap.

Once they were outside and wrapped in their cloaks, Minerva transfigured her most elaborate wreath of roses yet and passed it to Hermione to hold as they walked. It wasn't far.

On the soft peak of a nearby slope the two graves jutted out against the dull sky. There hadn't been a burial, for there was nothing left to bury, they had both blown away on the breeze, hit by the same spell. There had only been a ceremony on this spot, where most people agreed they had died.

Hermione knelt and set the wreath between the gravestones carefully, adjusting the angle so that it rested equally against both, and stood. They kept a silent vigil and when a tear leaked from her eye against her will, Minerva pulled her into a tight embrace. Hermione sniffled but restrained herself from sobbing. As she let her old professor pat her, she thought of Snape's stiff form as she had held him against his will, the texture of the scars as she put her arms around him. She couldn't understand why it made her want to cry all the harder.


	4. The First Dance

"Here," a husky voice whispered close to her ear. "Drink this." Hermione stirred and tried to gather herself. The weight of the sheets, the darkness: she was in her bed and weighing it down on one side was a male figure whose features she couldn't see, just the length of straight black hair.

Snape.

"Professor?" she mumbled in her sleep-addled state. "What did I do?" He pulled back from her.

"Oh for gods' sakes, Granger. This isn't detention."

Hermione groaned and pressed her face into her pillow as she began to remember where she was.

"Who told you to barge into my rooms? You're not supposed to be here..." she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and trying to focus enough to find her wand. Groping into the mess of books beside her bed she eventually found it holding her page and with a sharp tug, conjured a floating flame in a jar, bringing a gentle glow to the room.

"I never agreed to any such terms," he said, the flame illuminating the smirk that came with his voice, kept soft. She checked that her room wasn't a shameful shambles, not that she had anything to be ashamed of, him being the intruder. She tried to sit up and failed.

"At least get off my bed. You're pulling on my nightgown." He conceded, leering over her instead. "Much better," she grumbled. "That's not intimidating at all." Her mind was still half fuzz and she nearly zapped his thigh when she replaced her wand on the night stand. "Sorry."

"Don't worry, Granger. I've been looking forward to receiving my next scar," he sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm. She simply groaned and rolled over by way of response, turning her back on both the nuisance light and the spectre who apparently wanted nothing more than to bother her.

"Go away, why don't you?"

"Just drink this," he said, waving a small vial under her nose.

"Oh no," she shook her head vehemently. "No way!" Biting her lip she examined the curious liquid inside. "What's in it?"

There was only the slightest sound of a sigh over her shoulder.

"The memory you showed me of Ithala's voice, it is of the same basis as those viewable in a pensieve. It may be woven into the pages of the book with solid magic but it is still fully accessible. This is simply another means of experiencing that memory with all the textures the page cannot display. I have already been there once. Here, give me your hand."

She was too tired and bewildered to argue and let him wrap his surprisingly warm hand around hers, guide the vial to her mouth and then touch her fingers to the memory in the book.

It was exactly like tumbling face forward into a pensieve. Hermione gasped, adjusting her gown once she stood upright. She was in the centre of a hall, equal in size to the Great Hall of Hogwarts, grandly designed with stone of pink and black granite that glistened like gems beneath the polish. When she had researched Ithala there had been many accounts but very little mention of her wealth and status, although it made more sense, in hindsight, as to why there was so much documentation to begin with.

At the furthest end, beyond a long, entirely full dining table, sat two ornate thrones, the smaller of the two occupied. The man slumped in it was pale and beautiful, like an illusion of a man, a fantasy compared to the ordinary, blood-filled breathing members around the table, gorging themselves on dead plants and flesh. His skin glowed beneath the many tattoos that wrapped themselves around his body and he wore no clothes. Now that was something. Hermione was still a little sleepy. She couldn't begin to fathom if there was any significance to the tattoos or the nudity. Did it mean he was unable to wear clothes? Might Harry and Ron have to strut their stuff for the world if she brought them home? Or perhaps he was simply an eccentric aristocrat and a practising nudist. And, my, what a nudist.

Hermione shook her thoughts into order and started wandering closer to the only conversation she was able to make out, the one between Ravenclaw's ancestor and Ithala, the Queen at the head of the table, wrapped in white gauze and gold jewellery that hid none of her feminine assets. It was a little disconcerting that the stone floor was not icy against her feet.

"They did not think to take him with them." She recognised the speech but it held so much more meaning when accompanied by the sweeping gesture and wry smile of Ithala. There was a twinge of envy for her beautiful cheekbones and, even though she had all the marks of a woman over fifty, she was glorious to behold: dark eyes, thick black hair that fell in great waves to her waist. "Come, my winter," she purred, "Do not shy away from company. You used to love the revelries. No?" She threw her head back an laughed with a knowing look at her companion. "No! There is nothing of interest in the living now you have the secrets of the dead. I understand too well, husband, too well. He longs for the river to bathe his rotting soul. Do not mind him. I am glad you are here to visit my friend." She gripped her guest's hand tightly and squeezed it into a fist. "He would have me go insane."

The scene melted within the walls to reveal a dancing crowd, the king still in his throne. Ithala spun from the arms of one man into the next, eyes closed and head thrown back as though the routine required no thought. In the centre of the circling crowd, the archway stood, chilling Hermione down to the core. It was so close she could almost reach through it, could almost pull them back, her-

"NO-O!" Ithala screeched, causing the whole room to jerk to a halt. There was a woman running for the archway, clawing a hand through the gaps in the stone grid that barred her.

With a bang she was flung across the room into the pink granite wall, her arm blackened and singed. She remained there, still.

"Is she alive?" someone asked.

"You've killed her!"

"She has tasted death. The fool," Ithala spat. "She will be up in a few days. Someone take her to bed and heal her arm." A few people carried the body away but the dancing did not resume. They gathered instead around the gate, a simple stone arch as the description had led Hermione to believe.

"Is it time?"

"Yes. Husband, are you ready?"

The vision seemed to melt again and Hermione found herself alone in the room with Ithala and the gate. Ithala winked at her and Hermione's blood went cold. This was supposed to be a memory, but the look was unmistakably directed at her.

"Come here, little creature." Ithala curled an inviting finger as she purred seductively, her other hand stroking her own hip, "Show me what you _hide_ beneath your cheap little robe. Show it to _them_," she raised a long arm languidly and pointed to the gate, now open, that began to spill hundreds of gargoyles, salivating monsters that crawled lecherously towards her. She screamed.

"Wake up, Granger."

Hermione was back in her bed with a start, her heart throbbing with panic. "Wake up?" she cried, "I wasn't dreaming! The memory. Ithala spoke directly to me-" Snape rolled his eyes as she spoke and pressed his hand against her mouth to stop the steady stream of babble that flowed from her lips. She gulped behind the pressure of his fingers on her lips.

"You began to snore." She clamped her mouth shut and blushed. "You were sleeping only minutes before. Do not blame yourself." She gasped, agitated and impertinent.

"I blame you! This could have waited."

"Would you have wanted it to?" he asked with a raised brow, replacing the stopper of the vial and tucking it into the chest pocket of his robes. Hermione pouted.

"No..."

"I thought not," he said as he stood. He calmly forced her back into a reclined position and with his wand turned out the flame. "Sleep well, Granger."

The black shadow of silhouette swept from her room and she closed her eyes, muttering to herself, "Not bloody likely."

* * *

><p>Granger reclined on one of Severus' armchairs, making herself far more comfortable than he thought proper, limbs dangling off every end. It might be due to tiredness from interrupting her sleep the night before or from a growing sense of familiarity she may be feeling towards him. He thought neither a good enough excuse. Actually, the latter could be downright disturbing.<p>

He shuddered and dipped his quill in an adjacent ink bottle, scraping off the excess. That Granger had decidedly begun to appropriate his quarters as her own was something he thought it best to bite his tongue over, mostly because keeping her close saved chasing her down for information, but partly due to the fact that her presence had the effect of focusing his mind on work and taking it soundly off of Lily Evans. Still...

"That chair is not a bed," he barked. She tipped her head back and cocked it questioningly. He jabbed his quill tip at her for emphasis but she merely sighed and waved her wand lethargically, animating the fire with geometric shapes.

"Tell me again, please," she exhaled with a stretch, "just how much of what I saw last night was a dream?" He shook his head and resumed his annotations.

"From your long-winded and entirely over-dramatised account," he muttered as he scrawled, "it seems only the very last part was out of place. You did not wait long enough to ensure we had heard the entire memory when you originally presented it to me. We missed the moment someone tried to force themselves through a closed gate."

Granger's interlocked squares turned back into flames. She replaced her wand up her sleeve and closed her eyes. She then gave him a good ten minutes of peace as he sat, occasionally glancing up at her. The silence, disturbed only by the scratching of parchment, did wonders to improve his sour mood. It helped that his work had progressed rapidly and, though Granger didn't know it yet, he believed he had the first draft of a base concoction perfected. There were possible variations brewing gently but the one that turned clearest would be the one that had the best chance of success.

When Granger swatted a bit of hair away from her face, Severus started. He suddenly realised that instead of focusing on the page he had been staring, outright staring at the languid creature. That he knew how she would look stretched out without her robes did nothing to ease the situation. He coughed and startled her upright. There. Far less distracting. He hadn't been able to call her 'child' since that day. He wasn't able to view her as one any more.

"Either go back to bed or make yourself useful," he said, waving to a new stack of student papers to mark on the corner of his desk. "You've been working well enough on this potion but not nearly enough on easing my workload."

She sighed once more before she pulled herself up, adjusted her scarlet robes and drudged across the carpet, dragging the heavy armchair with her. He winced with every squeal of the wooden feet scraping across stone.

"Move over then," she murmured with the voice of someone long-suffering. In the moments when he flustered, looking for the appropriate words to tell her to bugger off, she had claimed half of his desk for herself, pushing her chair beside his and collapsing into it with a loud groan. Naturally.

"You give the performance of someone near the brink of death."

She frowned slightly as she reached for the first student assignment.

"Forgive me for being tired. Believe me, I can go without ten minutes of sleep. However, it's nightmares that prevent me from getting back to sleep at _all_ that are the problem. What I saw... It just... gave me a lot to think about. You wouldn't understand," Granger said, giving him a daring look. "Because you don't know what sleep is."

He said nothing but he believed his expression spoke volumes. If she knew the various pleasing responses he was currently playing out in his head, she would have quick marched from the room. But instead the young teacher settled beside him, sinking behind the stack of abysmal potions papers. When had this comfort grown on her part? He was sure he had done nothing to encourage it. It irked him greatly that he now had to dodge her quick elbows as she marked papers with lightening speed.

He peered over her shoulder and nearly gaped.

"You cannot possibly think Taudsen deserves that mark."

She turned towards him slowly, face dark.

"Would you rather mark these? I do know these students and their capabilities very well."

"You are right." Her face glowed momentarily. "You are clearly out of your head with exhaustion. Please. Allow me," he said silkily, affecting the airs of a gentleman as he whipped the papers out of her hands. She moved as if to lunge for them but hesitated, wisely, and changed her mind. "Now, perhaps you might move that chair to its rightful place?"

He couldn't deny that he derived some pleasure from her peeved expression.

"Or perhaps you could let me read your draft formula?"

He gritted his teeth as he replied, "By all means, read." With a wary look, she accepted the parchment.

The silence in which they both resumed their respective work was far less pleasant. Severus was determined to be harsher than ever in his marking and growing more furious by the second that his research might have any such implied faults that Granger would need to edit his potion draft.

With a flourish, he finished his last scrawled comments, only to find Granger had finished reading and was watching him.

"Well!" he barked. She jumped.

"This potion... it looks good..." is all she said. He fumed all the harder.

"Good!" he spluttered. "The insolence! I have formulated a potion that has promise. One that, over time, might undo its own effects! _Such has never been done before_!"

She burst into a wide grin. "Of course I know that. Would you prefer a hug by way of praise?"

"Just," the steam had left him as he waved her away, suddenly weary, "sit over there."

"Fine," she smirked.

"You are intolerable today," he muttered quietly. She shot him a look of pique over her shoulder as she pushed the chair away.

Once she had gotten comfortable she sunk back into a steady sleep and even begun to snore lightly. Why she was somehow finding it easier to sleep in that armchair than her own bed, he couldn't fathom.

Severus moved over to his workbench. That woman was more... polite when she was unconscious. More appealing as a colleague too. He thought back to how he had found her in her bed the previous night and couldn't help his smirk at the image of her limbs splayed in awkward angles in all directions on the bed.

Half an hour later, a glance over his shoulder revealed her face was inverted and her thick curls hanging to the floor. He snorted softly, such a preposterous creature but entertaining in her own way... when he wasn't obliged to teach her.

A sharp knocking at the small high window disturbed them both. Granger rubbed at her eyes as she sat upright. An owl with a package hovered impatiently behind the glass.

Severus pushed back his robes and reached up to let the ball of feathers in. Once caught, it wriggled excitedly in his grip as he undid the little clasp on its leg. With soft little hoot and a small circle around the room, it left the way it had come in.

"What is it?" Granger asked. Why did she have to wake up?

"It's an ingredient that might be of use to us. Only testing it will tell." In her curiosity she clambered back into a humanoid position and sat attentive. He held up a vial of violently orange powder. "It is one of the most powerful hallucinogens known. If we're to use it and the base potion is not perfected then there is the possibility of sending you permanently down the rabbit hole, so to speak."

"Nothing I've read alludes to the use of hallucinogens..."

"Nothing alluded to a potion either," he said pointedly. He noticed her eyes beginning to close under the weight of her eyelashes. "Are you really so exhausted? Should I be concerned?" Her eyes snapped open.

"No! No, I'm fine," she said, determinedly reaching for the memoirs of Helga Hufflepuff's great aunt Deidre. It was a uniquely boring book but even the slimmest chances had to be explored. He decided not to visit her in the night again. She clearly needed sleep in a way he did not. It was distracting the way she kept pausing to widen her eyes and take a sharp breath to keep herself focused.

Severus' gaze lingered on the way her curls draped over the open pages and around her knees as she drooped forward. Carefully setting the hellebore to one side, he went to check on his bubbling brews. He had three very similar but differently prepared variations on their potion stewing and a fourth, personal potion. It was liquid luck, something he had not felt the need for since his Death Eater days. But, although there was no substitute for hard old-fashioned research, a little luck would probably come in handy should they run out of leads.

Granger had clearly spotted the potion earlier when she arrived but, after a considering glance, paid it no more attention. Considering it again, he wondered if he had not been too harsh in his previous perception of her. He would have thought she'd feel the need to examine and explain everything about her but perhaps she had reached a stage where most of her burning questions had been answered. He certainly hadn't needed to answer a barrage of questions daily as he used to in their previous lives.

She was changed.

* * *

><p>"The first draught should be ready in a fortnight," Hermione said, reaching for a biscuit to dip in her tea. "I know it's not exactly the potion that will open the gate... but it has got me so excited!" Minerva gave her a level look but no amount of scepticism could quell the fountain of her hopes. "He believes you may be right about the unicorn hairs and we are sticking to female for the time being."<p>

"Meaning it will be _you_ testing all the attempts made at this potion," Minerva said primly.

Hermione quietly nibbled on her biscuit and looked about the mess of her office. The stack of Charms papers to mark tormented her. She had been falling behind while she spent her afternoons in Snape's quarters, marking work that she hadn't personally assigned and discussing the perfect way to prepare their potion. A few students had been very vocal on her new tardiness. She suspected it was entirely because she had been so soft with them. Students would never speak back to Snape. Not that she looked up to him and his abominable style of teaching.

Finally accepting Hermione's silence as answer, Minerva withdrew a small vial from her robes.

"I have another memory for you to view."

Hermione smiled and placed her saucer on the desk.

"Oh, excellent! Anything useful?" The headmistress hesitated, vial in hand, reluctant to pass it over.

"I cannot say. You and Severus know the true worth of this information. You surely know more on the subject by now."

"Yes... And you're more than welcome to join Snape and me in solving this riddle."

"That's quite all right, thank you. It's... it's not something I'm truly at peace with."

Hermione nodded and gratefully accepted the memory, tugging slightly to release it from her grip.

"I understand."

* * *

><p>Back once more in the dungeons, Hermione's jaw dropped as Snape offered her a smirk over his shoulder. All flames that lit his quarters had been swept out and the sole source of light came from beneath his hands.<p>

"Haven't seen this before, Granger?"

She just shook her head and pressed a hand over her mouth thoughtfully as she focused on the most bizarre potions preparation technique she had ever seen. It was mesmerising to watch as Snape's arms circled an ever brightening sphere.

"What an earth are you doing?" she murmured. He didn't answer. Then he hissed and halted, the sphere stopped glowing and dropped to the table with a plop. "Is it all right?" she asked, peering at it then up at him. "Are _you_ all right?"

"Yes," he said shortly, whipping off his robes so that they no longer restrained his movements, standing before her in the half light, thin, long-limbed, as menacing as a spider as he curled forward over the workbench once more, levitating the Jabberknoll heart with a tap of his wand and then putting his pale hands around it. His face was furrowed with the lines of concentration above the purple marks of his scars and despite the electricity in the air, his shiny black hair still lay flat, casting long shadows over the angular features of his face.

The ligaments on his hands tightened noticeably with the shadows as the heart once more begun its beating. He spun his hands around it, whispering rapidly under his breath. As they moved faster, almost a blur, the heart begun to beat faster and faster, following his speed and glowing a deep blue that washed over them and spread to fill the room.

The chant begun to take on a level of fury, as if cursing the ingredient. Hermione wondered, yet again, if Snape was employing dark magic. She almost wanted to disturb him, to break this solid concentration so that he might be the snide man she recognised instead of this disturbingly powerful wizard with black eyes ablaze and hands a blur.

He finished with a bang, the light sucked back into the heart then exploded as a blast of white light that blinded her momentarily.

When she could see once more Snape was relighting the torches that lined the walls with a flick of his wand. She sighed and let go of the pose she had been holding without realising it.

On the table was the original Jabberknoll heart, looking unassuming and perhaps a little off. Just as it had when he first slapped it onto the table. He picked up the brown lump with a forefinger and thumb and dropped it into the potion, wiping his hands on a cloth.

"What was that?" she asked, agape.

"Jabberknoll parts possess many properties," he explained, brushing dust off his robes before pulling them over his arms. "That was to draw out the undesirable ones. It takes years to master the art of doing so and not many wizards know that that there is the possibility of increasing the specificity of certain potions ingredients. Then again," he sneered, "not many are interested in the power of potions to begin with."

"That was," she breathed, "amazing." He raised a brow at her.

"You won't be quizzed, Granger. There is no need to be sycophantic."

"I'm not. And I never was," she said, too awed to bristle. "It still amazes me how little of magic I really know." It seemed she had said something right because he turned to her with raised brows and the smallest hint of a smile on his pale features.

"It's good that you are so humble."

Taken aback by the compliment, she said nothing. Snape swept across the room to settle himself behind his desk.

"What should I do now?" she asked, picking up and then replacing her knife on the table.

"In fifteen minutes you are to stir it five times clockwise. And then a further fifteen minutes later, stir it five times counter-clockwise," he told her from behind a book. Though she could only see his hair she could tell he was sneering. "Can you manage that?"

Ah, back to normal.

* * *

><p>A week later and the potion had taken on an ugly puss hue and texture. It grumbled as it bubbled over the fire on Snape's workstation. A bitter steam filled the already damp dungeons fogging Hermione's lungs and giving her the urge to cough. She was beginning to feel dubious about their concoction.<p>

"It doesn't look quite right," she mumbled shaking her head as she peered into it.

Snape reached forward a pale finger and picked up the strand of her long hair that had threatened to fall in.

"Careful, Granger," he sneered, pulling her back smoothly by the waist. "Who knows what properties your hair possesses." She scowled at him as he too leaned forward, pointedly holding back his own inky hair. "This potion has never been made before. I had also expected some degree of clarity. But who's to say this isn't the ideal consistency?" A slow growing bubble popped in front of his face, barely missing his nose. He snapped upright quickly.

"Careful yourself, Snape." Her smile elicited a grimace by way of response. "When can I test it?" she asked, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. He gave her a considering look before turning away from her and sweeping into the store cupboard.

"I am still not certain we should test it on you." His voice echoed through the door, deep tones carrying easily. "Wouldn't you rather feed it to an owl?" After a lot of angry spluttering on Hermione's part he changed tact. "Or perhaps we could give a small sample to a slug first and at least see if it survives a twenty-four hour period?"

"...Fine."

He re-emerged from the store cupboard, triumphantly presenting an open jar of black billywig stings.

"I hadn't considered this," he murmured, placing the container on the table and giving the contents a tentative sniff. With a small smile of satisfaction he pulled back, "but these might just be useful." Hermione ran a hand through her curls nervously.

"Are you sure you want to add them now? What about preparation? What about timing?" Snape snorted.

"For billywig stings?" She leapt out of his way as he made straight for the potion. Very carefully, he dropped one sting in at a time and kept a close eye on the effects before adding the next. "There's very little these will do, except perhaps to help the blending of the other ingredients."

"So all the timed stirring you had me do was for nothing!" she cried. "The ingredients never fully mixed."

"Perhaps," he shrugged, unconcerned, "Perhaps not. If there is no difference then one can say for sure."

But the potion was already clearing into the most wonderful crystal mauve, spreading from where the stings had landed.

"Urgh!" Hermione let out the guttural sound as a replacement for all the petulant things she wanted to say. His brow gave minor indication that he understood, but his face remained mask-like, professional. "So," she inhaled, rolling back her shoulders to relieve her frustration, "what does this mean for our potion?"

"We will continue this one to completion. I will add the stings to one of the other two as well. If it works then we will create future batches the same way, allowing them to stew separately and adding stings near the end." With a casual smirk he added, "We won't need to worry about the stirring, however."

"That sounds... logical." There really was no need for her churlishness. This was just a product of trial and error. But she still couldn't help projecting her frustrations onto Snape, with his cool demeanour and subtle jibes. Her doubts about this potion were mounting and this possibly fundamental error had done nothing to ease her concerns.

"Tomorrow we will try it on the slug." Snape took out five stings, recapped the jar and then pushed it into her arms. "Place this on its proper shelf before you leave."

* * *

><p>"Get some rest, Hermione," Parvati said, giving her an airy kiss on each cheek as they stood back in the Great Hall. "You've had far too much caffeine." If only her colleague knew... Hermione had spent the entire night reading, unable to sleep with excitement. Today was the day that she would find out whether the slug had survived its twenty-four hour period. Today she might be trying their potion.<p>

"Yes," Hermione murmured, mustering up a watery smile for her friend. "I am a bit out of it." Parvati nodded and adjusted her purple hat. She waved a bangled hand before heading back to her own rooms, leaving Hermione to stand between the gaping doors of Hogwarts. She turned and stared out as the sky lost the last of its pink and orange glow and the brightest stars began to shine.

With a sigh of frosty air, Hermione pulled on her cloak. Only a quick visit to Hagrid would be able to keep her from gnawing her arm off at the elbow from suspense as the final hour ticked down. Wet grass with melted snow soon had the base of her robes soaked as she made her way through the tall weeds in a short cut down to his hut.

Three quick knocks. Not a squeak from inside, not even the excited whimper of Fang.

Hermione sighed again and hung her head. It seemed she spent all her time sighing these days when she wasn't focused on work. It would have been nice to see Hagrid's friendly face, even if he did remind her painfully of old times of joy. She took a moment to rest her fingers against the roughly carved door and closed her eyes, seeing her friends smiling inside, waiting for her with giants cups of tea and inedible rock cakes beside a beaming Hagrid. If she succeeded the fantasy may yet come true.

With a heavy heart she returned to the castle to wait the last minutes out in the safety and warmth of the library.

* * *

><p>When Snape, with his usual sneer, informed her that the slug was alive, she nearly leapt into his arms with joy. Examining his sallow face and stern black eyes, she settled for merely pulling her fists to her neck and grinning.<p>

"Now may I try it?" she asked, as she looked up at him pleadingly, despite the growing look of worry on his features.

"Not quite yet..." he said, approaching the cauldron slowly. He slipped a hand into the depths of his black robes and withdrew a wand. "This is simply a base. There are no effects to grow and fade with your physical exertion... something I am uncertain you are up to in your present state." Hermione looked down at herself in confusion. "You look simply wretched," he clarified.

"Oh, nonsense!" she grinned, batting a hand in the air so rapidly that he recoiled slightly from surprise. When he remained frozen, recoiled from her, looking baffled, she waved him on impatiently. "Well, then! What next?"

"I would not normally recommend what I am about to do," he lowered the wand, "as the effects are incapable of binding truly to any potion, but as it will be a sufficiently weak effect..." he tapered off and let the sentence hang. Hermione wished he would hurry. Keeping his steady gaze on her, he stuck the tip of his wand beneath the surface of the potion and muttered, "Lumos."

The misty liquid began to glow slightly, brightening then fading out before brightening again. It was a truly promising sign, one that she suspected Snape hadn't noticed with his peculiar gaze still trained on her, though he did somehow manage to find a cloth and wipe his wand without taking his eyes off her either.

"Well?" she finally asked, unable to take the intensity of that penetrative stare. Thankfully he turned and picked up a vial, pouring out a small sample of the potion with a ladle.

Snape had opened his mouth to explain something to her but Hermione couldn't hear his words. The vial seemed to hum in way that filled her ears. She noticed he stopped talking and begun to glower but she reached out a tentative hand.

"Please?"

Slowly, painfully slowly, Snape reluctantly lowered the vial into her palm. It was still cauldron-warm.

"This is not the place to test it..." she thought aloud. He nodded once in agreement, still examining her. "May I?" she gestured to the door. He nodded again.

Holding the vial with a grip both delicate and deathly strong, she left the dungeons, aware of the sweeping of Snape's robes, dragging on the stone floor a few steps behind her.

Her whole body throbbed with elation as she left the castle behind, warmest at the point where she cradled the liquid-promise to her chest. Blood drummed time in her ears. She could no longer hear him following her, though when she glanced back, there he was, silent. She smiled at him but got no discernible response.

A howling wind nearly knocked her off her feet as she rounded the steepest slope towards a lake that appeared to boil with ripples. She needed to escape the bone-biting wind. Pausing only a moment, she decided on the forbidden forest, despite the dark. She promised Snape she wouldn't venture too far in. Again, no response. She took it to be assent.

Once she reached the shelter of the looming trees, the darkness intensified and a thick silence descended, as all but the most persistent wisps of wind were kept at bay. A low groan shook the bows of a far off tree. Hermione stopped dead, calmed with the all-pervasive stillness. With a steadying breath she pushed forward, fingers tightening around the vial.

It wasn't long before the thick trees gave way to a clearing. It was fairly small but Hermione reckoned it big enough for her purposes. Her energetic trembling doubled, though she couldn't feel the cold. Snape halted and watched her from the border of the treeline as she made a full circle of the clearing. Withdrawing her wand, she wrapped some of the wider trunks with ribbons and beads of light from her wand to keep away creatures fond of the dark and so that she might see what she was doing instead of breaking her neck by tripping on a twig.

Once the space was filled with a gentle glow she removed her outer robes, feeling no need of them without the biting wind and her face burning beneath her fingertips.

Bringing forth her wand she muttered a short spell to animate the robes. If dancing was required she only knew what she had learned of ballroom and required a partner. She glanced once at Snape, a statue-like shadow, and shook the thought of asking him away. She also summoned a sombre tune from the air, a steady minor piano piece. Now to try and ignore the focus of his gaze, else she'd be too self concious to dance.

The robe offered a flourish of the sleeve as it bowed. Hermione smiled and curtsied in return. Turning her attention to the vial, she downed the potion in one and froze where she stood. She held her breath, waiting to pass out or swell into a green balloon but nothing of the sort occurred. Very promising.

Her robes waited patiently until she was ready to step into their scarlet embrace. Feeling the beat of the music she let the clothes take the lead. And, indeed, the insubstantial partner made for a supremely efficient dancer. Her spell had been perfect. But she still found herself tripping from the near-mechanical accuracy of its motion. Though it moved convincingly, it lacked any humanity or natural grace.

She pinched her eyes shut and tried to fall into step, wondering if the potion was doing anything. She certainly didn't feel anything but the crunch of frozen soil beneath her feet.

"May I?" a deep voice interrupted. Hermione froze and her partner jerked to a halt. With her eyes closed that dark voice had the strangest effect of sending a shiver down her spine. Without opening her eyes or even agreeing, she found herself taken into the more solid embrace of Severus Snape, his hand finding hers and an arm placed precisely in the middle of her back. She gasped. Her chest tightened to think that beneath the thick cloth her hands rested on lay the bare white skin of this most respected of men. She hadn't felt this when she had embraced him, because she had only seen a man in need of affection. But now she panicked further to think of his hand at her back. But by focusing intently on keeping her eyes shut she believe her surprise at his willingness well masked. Pausing only a beat, he continued the dance, neatly spinning her in tight focused steps.

If she opened her eyes she knew she might not quite believe the sight. Something had possessed him. She had seen him dance before at balls when forced into it by the other professors. And grimly at that! With the supremely funny look on his face of one who has just swallowed a lemon. Though she couldn't tell if his face held the same expression, he swept her about with perfect ease and with stunning grace.

She felt euphoric to be part of such a beautiful dance. He took her for a turn and she kept her timing perfectly, despite the heavy sense of calm that spread sluggishly through her limbs.

She sighed, hesitating before letting the weight of her head fall against his chest, the exhaustion and ease too strong for her to resist after spending two sleepless days on edge with excitement. She could feel his body stiffen beneath the swell of her cheek but couldn't really care. It was curious to hear Professor Snape's heartbeat that lay beneath his cool exterior.

She'd expected some kind of jibe over her exhaustion or poor dance posture but instead he stated simply: "You are glowing."

Hermione finally opened her eyes to the wrinkled robes of his shoulder and then leaned back to look down on herself. The skin of her hands gave off a hint of gold and a warm light seemed to bathe her clothes from beneath.

"Is it growing at a steady pace?"

"It appears so," he said, encouraging her to keep beat with the music by a firm pressure at her back. He didn't allow for mistakes and when she once tripped he picked her up and moved her on to the next step before she had even begun to fall.

"You're good." It was an off-handed comment that elicited a dry smirk.

"Perhaps," he shrugged. Fighting the growing sense of peace that added to her fatigue, she tried to keep talking.

"Do you know that I haven't danced in years?"

"Neither have I," he confessed, deadpan once more, their feet still moving in unison.

"We're both a sad pair..." He said nothing by way of response. Snape did cut a disturbingly sharp figure when he moved. The sleekness of his frame coupled with the midnight robes that trailed behind his steps and the shoulder length hair that struck his sharp chin made his human flourishes a pleasure to watch. Hermione almost wished she wasn't the one dancing with him so she could observe them properly. Almost.

With a little more time she began to notice the increase in her brightness. It filled Snape's pallid face with light, made his dark eyes glitter.

As they one-two-three-d through the small clearing, she wondered whether she really was up for the necessary amount of physical exertion required to bring this potion back to to completion. Perhaps he had been right. This was their first attempt and they had no idea just how much was needed to bring the effect to maximum and back to minimum. Minutes or hours, possibly days. And that was if it worked. If the effects did not reverse she might have to wait days, blinded by the light of her own eyelids while she waited for Snape to find an antidote. And she was so dreadfully tired...

Snape coughed and she glanced up at him. He had turned his head from her. She assumed at first it was the brightness of the light she was generating, it overshadowed her illuminating ribbons of light around them. But no. When she looked down she saw why he coughed. Her clothes, while not the least bit flimsy, could no longer mask the amount of light generated from her figure, which was somehow illuminated with embarrassing accuracy. The shape of her body was clearly outlined in yellow-white, while the glow surrounding her was soft orange. She wondered if her blushing affected the colour of the light from her face.

She decided to be cheeky and lean against him once more. This time when he tensed it made her smile, not that she could be sure why.

Another hour passed and the music began to wear her down, her feet began to grow sore and Snape now had to keep his eyes pinched closed to keep from being blinded. But for Hermione there was no escaping it. It shone through her eyelids. His pace slowed as he tried not to topple them both.

The sheer level of the effects were unnerving, for she had never witnessed a lumos of this magnitude. The potion was incredibly powerful. Perhaps too much so. As the fear mounted she found herself almost clinging to him as he led the waltz. It was an impressive feat that he guided them both by memory, not once reopened his eyes to check his step.

Two more turns of the forest clearing and she could no longer withhold her fears.

"It's not working," she whispered, gripping his bony shoulder like a vice. "It's just getting worse."

"Give it time," he answered calmly, picking up the pace once more. "Perhaps we are being too leisurely." But a deep frown knitted his brows together. Soon he took her to dizzying speeds and it took every last bit of Hermione's focus and concentration to match his steps.

"Aren't you tired?" she groaned, nausea settling in as the world spun faster than she did.

"We can pause if you like?" he said, bringing them to an abrupt halt. She nearly fell off her feet, they had been dancing for so long. Steadying herself against his thin frame, she noticed how she coloured the trees like a forest fire, a flickering yellow-orange.

"I don't want to stay this way!" she objected.

"I do believe it is beginning to recede," he said briskly as he indulged her wishes, adjusting his grip on her before leading them onwards.

"You're wrong."

He said nothing but he did not seem pleased to have his words brushed aside and he twisted her sharply on the next step.

"Ouch," she muttered.

"Apologies."

But he was right. Thank heavens, he was right. A few of hours further into the dance and her skin glowed at half the brightness that had blinded them both. She asked him to slow his pace and he obliged, finally opening his eyes. After a few blinks, he lowered his gaze. She smiled, excited once more, thrilled even, that their potion was successful. That _he_ had been successful. No matter what Minerva feared, she had been right to find him.

"May I call you by your first name?" she asked cautiously. The amount of time spent in close proximity seemed to allow for the intimacy at this point. He no longer felt like the big bad "Snape" Harry had once obsessed over.

He gave her a level look. She stared back, matching his dark inscrutable gaze and waited.

"You may," he said eventually, "But forgive me if I do not return the familiarity."

"That's fine," she smiled. She was too ecstatic with their success to ponder if there was any veiled insult in this arrangement, resting her head back on his chest. This time he did not tense. Hermione believed it was because he considered her on the point of exhaustion, which, if she thought about it, she probably was. Still, these hours of dancing with her old professor had been the first time in years when she had had... not fun. No. It wasn't that. It was a sense of not being entirely alone, a distraction from her grief that wasn't a shallow moment of laughter, but a small smile, and a deep sense of peace.


	5. Hellebore

There was only the tiniest hint of light coming from her skin but it hadn't disappeared entirely, which is why Hermione was disappointed, even a little sad, when Severus brought their long waltz to a stop.

Her body felt lighter than air as they stood, perfectly still, Hermione's hand still resting heavily on his rawboned shoulder and his arm set snugly in small of her back. Now that the forest clearing was dim once more, her gaze was drawn to her glowing skin, lighting their interlocked hands. Severus was examining her face with his usual inscrutable frown.

"But-" He shook his head to hush her and stepped away, leaving Hermione with an irrational sense of bereavement to be standing alone once more.

"Stay still a while. Let us make sure that these lingering effects do no fade on their own." She made herself stiff as a plank and his lips twitched. "Sitting," he smirked, "would be perfectly acceptable."

"Oh, right," she mumbled, "of course," reaching for her wand to create a soft seating blanket from a nearby log. "Could you pass me my robes and cloak? It's actually quite cold." He nodded and was swift in retrieving them for her. "Thank you," she said, smiling up at him as he placed them in her outstretched hand.

Severus said nothing, merely watched her intently as she settled on the squashy blanket. She shifted awkwardly. "Er... would you like to sit? There's plenty of room."

"I prefer to stand," he said simply, folding his arms behind his cloak. Having him standing over her, tall, thin, head to foot in the blackest of blacks she couldn't keep from feeling intimidated. It didn't help they were alone. In the forbidden forest. At night. She placed her hands on her ankles and tried to look forward. But every few moments she snatched a peek at him but not a hair on his head ever moved as he watched her, unblinking.

"Must you... leer?" she eventually piped up. She wasn't certain but she thought she saw his lips twitch once more.

"I am simply observing the effect of my potion, Granger. That they happen to be on you is of no consequence." Well, it was of some consequence to her...

"Please have a seat."

"No."

"But it is _very_ uncomfortable to have you staring down on me." He shrugged.

"So be it."

She turned from him, hiding her face behind her fluffy hair as she grumbled.

Once again a great long silence resumed as the Potions Master watched over her, sounds of movement within the forest occasionally breaking through the bracken.

"I think one can safely say that your condition has changed neither for better nor worse. Wouldn't you agree?" Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Finally.

"Yes."

He proceeded to pace, dredging bracken and leaves as he went, thinking aloud.

"Now we need to check something else that hasn't been considered. That it was not the physical exertion but the actual manipulation of your location that affected the potion, the physical movement through space and-" she had to interrupt.

"Would it matter?" He stopped and glared at her.

"Of course it would," he said, angrily stripping her lights from the trees with a motion from his bare hand. "Once in the underworld you will not be moving through our plane as we know it. Your movements would have no effect." It made her head spin a little to consider but she nodded.

"So how do we test for that?" But he had disappeared, melted into the darkness of between the trees. Exhausted and feeling helpless, she got to her knees, twisting knot into her cloak. "Severus?" she called out tentatively. Just as she began to panic he re-emerged, melting like a shadow out of the darkness, a broom levitating under his hand. "Don't do that!"

"Do what?" he frowned.

"Forget it..."

She tidied up her transfigurations with a quick gesture from her wand. Then, when she headed over to join him, providing the only light in the entire forest, he pointed at her sharply and told her to stop. Instead he guided the broom towards her. As she climbed behind him she sat awkwardly, trying to find a little room to hold onto.

"Erm..." she started.

"Shoulders," he snapped and she silently thanked him. As the broom took flight she latched on, digging her nails through cloak and cloth right down to bone until he hissed and turned on her.

"Sorry," she squeaked, flinching under his terrifying scowl. "I have a... dislike of brooms. I can ride them well enough if I have to. But..."

"Of course," he grumbled, facing forward and taking them up gently. For that she was grateful and she tried not add another set of scars to his collection as she kept her gaze fixed square in the middle of his back. He leant forward, speeding from the trees towards the clouds and Hermione had no choice but to lean with him, pressed against his back.

Wind whipping at them wildly, Hermione realised he was taking her over the quidditch pitch. She tightened her grip once more as they flew three big circles around the grounds before he brought them smoothly to the entrance. They must have made a peculiar sight to any students looking out of the windows.

"Any change in the level of luminance?" he asked her as they neared the doors.

She couldn't see any.

* * *

><p>Following their success they had upped the pace on their collaborative efforts and Hermione found most of her free moments being spent in the dungeons. It was just as well that Severus had comfy furniture she could kip on, no matter how much he seemed to resent her presence when she wasn't hard at work.<p>

But despite their renewed vigour they seemed to have ground to a halt. They argued constantly about the direction to take the next stage of their potion. Hermione was convinced that ingredients for transporting and the basic magic of portkey spells were the place to start while Severus shot down each of her ideas in favour of hallucinogens, believing that it would be no good to try and transport someone somewhere that they couldn't physically reach and that it was only the mind that needed to travel and that a magical body would follow.

"Severus, it sounds like gibberish!" she snapped.

"Your conviction that the underworld is quite literally _under this world_ is hopelessly childish!" he spat back, holding up a conical flask of brown sludge and peering through it over his desk.

She sighed and tugged at a strand of hair, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. He placed the flask on the desk and tentatively pulled at its cork, giving her a curious look.

"Is that a sigh of concession, Granger?" he asked smugly. Git.

"It is," she groaned. It was easier to let him have his way. If he was wrong they would lose at most three months before she would insist on changing tact. When she spoke this thought aloud he nodded.

"Three months of good faith is not exactly a victory but I'll accept it." She heaved the next tome onto her knees as she sank back into the chair, stretching her legs out straight. "Tired?"

"Slightly annoyed," she retorted honestly.

"With me?" his voice feigned ignorance. She groaned once more. "Put that book aside," he added, pointing, "I need your assistance." Obediently, she freed herself from the crushing weight on her lap and adjusted her robes.

"Right. Lets get this draught going," she said, approaching the work bench and clearing the cauldron while Severus quickly swept into the shadows of his storeroom and re-emerged with armfuls of vials and ingredients and a rather malicious-looking grin on his face. Perhaps it was just his way of smiling but she still felt it meant she was in for trouble.

Trouble was right, though it wasn't deliberately his fault. As he placed the arm-load on the work surface, he knocked a familiar-looking orange vial off the end of the table with his robes. She lunged after it, catching it in her hand before it landed. But she had miscalculated her movements and ended up toppling forwards, putting out her hands to stop the fall. With a sickening crunch, the vial was crushed beneath her palm, shards of glass digging deep into flesh and bone.

She cried out and rolled over, pulling her leaking wound to her chest, squeezing her wrist and examining the damage. She winced. It was hard to discern between all the blood.

Severus was at her side in moments, and after a quick glance, caught her under the elbow and guided her to the sofa. The pain rattled her head.

"It's all right; I can heal it myself," she hissed. She was about to ask for some gauze but the sight of his gaunt face made her go cold. There was no anger or irritation in his black eyes, just fear in his widened eyes. "...Severus?" She followed his gaze as it flicked to the mess on the floor. "What was in that vial?" she gulped, knowing she wouldn't like the answer.

"A rare kind of hellebore. You were here when it arrived. It's the hallucinogen." Every muscle in her core seized.

"The antidote-"

"Is almost as poisonous as the ingredient itself and not worth the risk. Stay," he hissed and firmly held her back as she tried to stand. She could already feel a fever boiling in her blood. "The effects of this one are mostly hallucinogenic. If not under control they can cause seizures and behaviours dangerous to you and those around you." Her mouth flapped as she held out the clawed and bloodied palm. "I will heal your wounds but first I must do the only merciful thing." If possible she tensed even further, terror or perhaps poison prickling the nerves in her limbs. He placed a hand on her fevered brow, pulled out his wand and muttered, "Stupefy."

The darkness was only momentary.

Life, vivid and real, seemed to continue around her, growing up from the floor and reforming Snape's dungeon quarters. She knew it wasn't right, not just because she had watched it spawn but because there was something terribly out of place about the colours. She couldn't say what. They were just... wrong.

But her old professor still stood, blocking out the light as he leaned over her. He was wearing a cloak and his expression was off. The nature of his power and threatening posture suddenly became the only focus of her thoughts.

"Hmm. _Miss_ Granger," he purred, lips curling into a crooked, toothy smile. "So kind of you to join us."

"Us?" she mumbled, sitting up. Severus' grin still fixed in place, he raised an arm, creating a curtain with his cloak. When he lowered it there was someone there.

"Parvati?" Nothing had happened yet but she was already filled with dread. "What are you doing here?"

Parvati said nothing but mimicked Severus' dreadful smile. A knot formed in her stomach as Severus slid over to his desk and then tightened when Parvati followed.

"Won't you join us?"

Hermione stood and as she did she realised the air had a liquid feel that made her movements sluggish.

"Join-" Before she could ask her stomach dropped. Parvati bent over Severus, looking regal and smug on his throne, and caught his mouth in hers in a searing kiss. The last puff of air in Hermione's lungs left her as she watched Parvati rest a knee between his thighs and run a hand around his scarred neck, her lips and his pulling at each other in a lavish, yet unhurried manner. It wasn't a real kiss; it was purely for show. The burning in her chest, the tightness that squeezed at her ribs, they both made her want to wriggle out of this situation, to look away at least. But she couldn't.

If she had once known it was a hallucination, that realisation had left her now because the emotion that welled, brewed within her was real. She couldn't give it a name. It wasn't outrage. Neither was it betrayal. It almost felt like hurt.

Severus, still indulging Parvati, began to unbutton his clothes. Her breath hitched as Parvati licked her lips and moved to the purple scars that ran from his chin down to his collar bone. Perhaps outrage had been right after all. Severus seemed to forget her friend's presence and focused his intense gaze directly over Parvati's head on Hermione, a hunger in them that set her legs trembling. It was an expression she had never even been capable of imagining in his face, directed at _her_.

As more of his pale chest was revealed, Hermione realised what the scene was creating inside her: jealousy. And like a candle blown out, remembrance of any reality left her and she gave in to the fantasy, fully certain that he, Severus Snape, wanted her.

She took a few steps forward until she stood over the two of them. His eyes never left hers, though Parvati had worked her way down to his belt at this point and had teasingly began to pull at it. On impulse she stuck her hand through his hair, soft, silky, touching through to his scalp. For a moment he closed his eyes appreciatively. Parvati now had the belt undone, that twisted smile still fixed on her face. Hermione's blood started up again, racing as the pit dropped out of her stomach. She wanted to cry out 'no' but it was too late. She had already pulled the prize from his trousers and had her mouth around it.

But her heart rate didn't slow, it increased to frightening speeds, utterly mesmerized and yet horrified by Parvati's... talent. Severus had closed his eyes once more and Hermione found herself supporting his head as it lolled back and he groaned. A frightening pressure, a warmth, was building low in her abdomen and she couldn't help herself as she leaned to his face, hesitating for only a second to feel his breath on her cheek before she brushed her lips against his. It was like a bolt of electricity had shot through her and she gasped as he grabbed her by the front of her robes and pulled her in for a deep kiss. Warm, moist bliss. Her senses were overloaded by the pleasure of the sensation.

And though the scene suddenly faded from her, everything blurring into a white light of day, the feeling of profound pleasure lingered in her veins and the knot in the pit of her belly remained.

"Granger..." It was his voice, deep and smooth. Delicious.

"Hmm..." Her thoughts started coming together.

The logic of the hallucination began to fade into a jumble of highly inappropriate actions. A hot blush grew on her cheeks as she returned to her senses and found the real and solid Severus' face daringly close to hers, watching her with genuine concern. Nausea struck her in the gut full force. She was mortified to realise she was panting.

He helped her sit upright, saying nothing as he watched her face. She wished he wouldn't hold her. It was far too familiar. His fingers caused fireworks where they touched.

"Do you see anything here that might not be real?" She bit her lip and frowned at him, trying to discern any lustfulness in his tone but it was as inscrutable as ever.

"I'm not sure," she murmured. He noticed her calculating gaze and looked taken aback.

"Rest a few moments more." His words were measured, indifferent. Hermione decided that he was probably real.

"No! I'm fine."

"You were having a nightmarish vision?" he asked, kneeling beside her. "I'm sorry to have woken you so soon. I was... concerned."

"It was nightmarish, of sorts..." she mumbled, scared out of her wits for both the content of the experience and his proximity. She wondered if his hair really felt so soft.

"That is a setback," he muttered, lowering his gaze.

"Why?" A moment of curiosity made her forget her discomfort.

"The hallucinations were supposed to be un-emotive, a clean window. They won't give an accurate portrayal of the underworld if they're at all influenced by what you desire," he said brusquely, pulling himself to the nearest chair and sinking into it with an angry frown, rubbing his forehead. It was just then that Hermione realised that her hand was repaired. He must have healed it while she was out, but she was too distracted by his words.

"What I _what_?" She blanched. He turned to her slowly.

"What you desire." He raised a curious brow. "Something the matter, Granger?"

She tried to brush it off casually.

"Are nightmares really about what someone wants?"

"If in a dream about being eaten by werewolves, you wanted above all else _not_ to be eaten," he said with a hint of resentment in his eyes, "the same want is probably applicable to reality." He paused and added as an afterthought: "If far less likely to be at the forefront of your mind."

"I'll say," she murmured. As she closed her eyes she could see it again, the jealousy and the desire. But the smaller details had already begun to fade.

* * *

><p>When Hermione returned to her rooms she closed the door. Then she pressed her back up against it, leaned her head against the barrier between her and what had just happened and slipped down to the floor. If only it could swallow her whole.<p>

It was simply a mistake of her subconscious, a mistake of her reasoning to think that there was anything to it. She stuck a hand into her tangled curls and tugged until there was a sharp sting of pain.

But her thoughts still flew back to the unfamiliar mixture of comfort and lust that his voice had stirred in her as she had come back to her senses. She shook her head. A moment of insanity. A magical lust. She could, and would, brush it aside, never to think of again.

There was only one way she knew to clear this from her head.

With Easter holidays just around the corner, she needed a long trip to the Burrow.

* * *

><p>When Hermione stepped out of the hearth into the kitchen, setting her trunk to one side, there was no one in the room to greet her. It was ghostly quiet in a house she recalled as noisy and warm. She undid the fastening of her cloak, wondering why she had even bothered to put it on when the Burrow was always so warm.<p>

The long table was set for dinner and there was a satisfying whiff of a nut roast that filled the air. The radio was playing softly on the windowsill. Looking about at the familiar scene of homeliness, there was an all too noticeable void against the wall where Mrs Weasley's clock had once been. It would have been useful at a time like this.

"Hello?" she called out, hanging the cloak on the chair behind her usual place at the table.

A sudden squeal and a sound like thunder came from upstairs. It was the unmistakable sound of Ginny tumbling down the stairs to greet her. Hermione smiled and waited with open arms until the redhead burst in through the door and flung herself into them.

"Hermione! You're a couple of hours early!" Hermione gasped for breath under the strength of the squeeze on her ribcage.

"I'm sorry." She smiled as Ginny beamed up at her. Sweet thing. "You don't know how good it is to be here," she confessed once they parted.

Mrs Weasley entered the kitchen, placing her wand in her apron and holding her hands for Hermione to take and then squeezing them lovingly.

"This is always your home," she said. Hermione felt a weight leave her shoulders. It was indeed. Even with the intense emptiness without Harry or Ron, this still was the happiest place she had in all the world.

Ginny edged Mrs Weasley aside, taking Hermione's arm and marching her into the living room. "How long are you staying then?"

"I know I said a week but..."

"Say no more!" Ginny held up a hand and then called through the corridor. "Hermione's staying for a bit longer, okay?"

"Of course!" Mrs Weasely called back. Kitchen utensils clattered nosily. "Oh for heavens' sake..." they heard her mutter.

Hermione felt the walls of her façade come crumbling down. Her eyes welled as she gave Ginny a watery smile.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I feel like I am forgetting who I am these days."

Ginny pulled her onto the sofa and tucked her legs under her, leaning forward with concern.

"Why?"

"I don't know if I should even tell you," she said, knowing that she already would. She had been dying to tell Ginny her plans to bring back Harry and Ron since the moment she set her heart on doing so. There was no point when all she had were wishes. But after years of research, Minerva's aid and the new addition of that complicated man she dare not think of, the progress was coming along in leaps and bounds.

It was the greatest relief to finally tell her everything. She started from the very beginning, told her of how she had initially approached Minerva, of how she began reading and researching, how she theorised and generated an idea and how she recruited Severus and waited for Ginny to interrupt and berate her for the insanity of her plan. But she never did, holding a finger between her lips, totally captured by Hermione's words. She told her the story of Ithala, her surreal undead husband and the success of their potion.

Once Hermione had talked herself out, they sat in silence, Hermione relieved to be free of the burden on her chest, Ginny sat in thoughtful awe, the only sound a few gnomes bickering through the window.

"This plan is crazy. You know that, don't you?"

"It was at first..."

Ginny shook her head vehemently.

"No, Hermione. You're the smartest person I know but you've missed all the major risks here!"

"I know the risks. I am willing to take them all."

"You don't! Say everything works exactly as you hope. The potion is perfect, the gate opens and Harry and Ron are on the other side waiting for you, pale but otherwise exactly the same. You said you don't know what's on the other side of the gate! Odds are, you'll never make it back."

Hermione felt the sorrow stir up within her as she answered truthfully, "Then I'm meant to stay there. We all are in time."

"So you are going through all this effort to commit suicide?" she gasped. Hermione shook her head and rested her hand on Ginny's knee.

"No. But I'm saying I'm not afraid to die. How many times have we put ourselves in peril, not knowing was waiting on the other side of doors? Why should I be so afraid now when death waits here as well as there..."

* * *

><p>Severus set down the flask of coffee by his empty breakfast plate and picked up the letter he had been eyeing. He noted the curious glance of the headmistress as he finally broke the seal. It wasn't the only glance he received in the hall. More than a few brats were openly gawping up at him as he unfolded the parchment. He wasn't exactly famed for his popularity and letters were a rarity.<p>

The neat script in his hand read:

_Dear Severus,_

_I am truly, very, sincerely sorry to ask this of you _(Not sorry enough, he thought.)_ but I have been taken ill while at the Burrow and need someone to cover my classes from Monday. I should be back soon. _

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

He shook his head. Patil turned to him with a look of curious concern and he sneered until she looked away.

Granger should have asked someone else. Favours from him did not come cheap. Thinking about it, he didn't understand why she hadn't. Patil or Hagrid... they'd have been happy to do it. Even Longbottom would have fallen over himself to teach her classes. Not that he could. He was best suited to his reclusive life in the greenhouses and not much else. It was probably a form of revenge for the papers he gave her to mark. Touché.

Severus sighed and placed the letter back on the table, realising as he did that he now sat in her usual seat. In all her time at the burrow this was the first letter she had sent to him and it contained not one question of their potion.

He ran his finger over the rim of his flask absent-mindedly and stared into the Great Hall's clouds above. Now not only was he saddled with the full responsibility of brewing the next draught of their joint potion, but her unruly students as well.

Teaching charms... now that should be _riveting_.

* * *

><p>It was after an irritatingly messy class with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff third years that an epiphany struck him. Mid-sentence he stopped his tirade and left the third year Ravenclaw in tears behind him in the hallway in order to march up to the headmistress' office.<p>

"Sherbert lemon?" Minerva asked, perched primly behind a fastidiously neat desk holding out a small paper bag as he stepped through her door. The sight of Dumbledore's favourite sweets set his stomach roiling with guilt.

"Please, Minerva," he said simply, averting his eyes. Her sharp gaze examined him closely, picked up on his discomfort and returned the treats to the top drawer of the massive desk. "Have you developed a taste for phoenix familiars too?"

"No," she said simply, keeping her beady eyes trained on him as she sucked on her sweet. He gave her time to ask her questions and when she didn't he snarled.

"You still cannot trust me." She adjusted her glasses and fixed her steady gaze on him.

"Come now, Severus," she said reasonably. "We never truly _liked_ one another."

"There was always a sense of good-natured rivalry."

"Yes. And now Professor Granger is head of Gryffindor house." Her eyes narrowed.

Dumbledore's portrait shook his head over them both.

"If I might interject?" They both turned to glare daggers at him instead. "Thank you," he beamed, giving them each knowing looks in turn. "Severus, firstly I am glad to see you are looking in a lot better health than I recall. Something is certainly agreeing with you. Secondly, I believe you are being unreasonable in your candour, Minerva. Severus is a hero to the wizarding world-"

"And yet everyone in it knows better than to approach him in person, especially after what he did to that despicable Skeeter woman from the Daily Prophet. She still has to draw on her eyebrows. Yet we have him teaching children."

"Minerva!" Though it looked like she had more to say she was humbled by the glint in Dumbledore's eye. Once certain he had their attention he continued, "Thirdly, you have both been putting a great deal of effort into the same goal and have yet to open a discussion on the subject. This needs to end."

As he had already suspected. But apart from Minerva's and Granger's forest excursions, he wanted to believe that she had been open with him about everything she knew.

"Were you actually here, there would be no way you would approve of pursuing the dead," Severus murmured, despondent.

Portrait Dumbledore faltered. "You're implying I approve now!" Severus held his tongue. Questioning the portrait shattered the comforting illusion of his presence. He looked to Minerva with a sneer.

"Is there something I'm not being told?"

Minerva adjusted the hat that had shifted on her head.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know. I've seen very little of Hermione since you've returned."

"I have not forced her to invade my quarters in the way that she has."

Dumbledore's portrait chimed in, "It's good of you not to have driven her away."

Minerva raised her brows in surprise. "Yes. I hadn't thought of that. I must admit, that is good of you." Severus was taken aback but nodded curtly in agreement. She sighed and glanced up at Dumbledore with a sorry smile. "I remember how draining Severus found being around others for too long without a dose of solace." He pondered the truth of her words. And yet, he had rarely felt drained by Granger's ever-pervasive presence... "Please forgive this old witch her neuroses."

"I assure you that your fears are well founded," he smirked. It was with a trace of their old mutual respect that he bowed his head and asked, "I was hoping I might have use of your penseive for a few weeks?"

* * *

><p>"So... You fancy you know more about this topic than I do?" he whispered, towering over the second year who sat quivering in his seat. The pitiful thing shook its head. "Good. Then you'll permit me to proceed with my explanation..?" He raised his brows and waited through the long and awkward pause until the boy finally realised he had to give some sign of permission and nodded. "Excellent... Oh, and ten points from Hufflepuff."<p>

The child wilted in his seat under the glares of his classmates. Severus restrained a small smile. Second years were generally more teachable. They still frightened easily.

He resumed going through the proper arm movements for a tickling charm until the moment a student nearly caught him in the chest with a poorly-aimed spell. With the class close to an end it was a relief to simply hand out a spattering of detentions and dismiss them early, to both their and his delight.

"Severus." He lifted his head. Standing in the stone doorway of the classroom with a timid smile on her face and her arms folded was the unruly-haired Granger herself, resplendent in her convalescence. He tightened his lips.

"Granger," he nodded stiffly. Her smile faltered. She took a hesitant step into the room, tilting her head as she averted her eyes submissively.

"Thank you for taking my classes, Severus, given your feelings towards my subject," she said.

"It is no further inconvenience to being left with the bulk of the brewing work," he sneered. She had been gone for not one but two whole weeks. He was relieved she now appeared in perfect health, but tried to mask the relief from his voice.

"I'll put in extra time to help you now that I'm back," she assured him. "And I have been reading while I was in bed... I think I've found something, Severus. Something I should have thought of before..."

She was about to speak and Severus could not deny he was curious. But he held up a hand. "In my rooms," he said shortly, and, picking up his book, he swept past her, leaving her to trace his steps. "I need to check on the potions," he clarified over his shoulder.

He heard the patter of her quick feet as she struggled slightly to keep up with his stride. With a trace of guilt, he slowed and allowed her to match his speed, noting a grateful smile out the corner of his eyes.

Reaching the hidden door to his quarters, he held it open for her to step through. Once inside, they approached the cauldrons. He lowered the flames on each and stirred them in turn as she hovered impatiently.

Turning to her, "While you were recuperating you discovered something?" he prompted. There was a glint of triumph in her eyes.

"I _remembered_ something."

* * *

><p>Hermione wondered if Severus was angry about her absence because of his civility. It was impossible to tell. His sharp black eyes still glinted as before while he examined her intently. His face was as pallid as ever from remaining in the dungeons while she was gone, despite the marvellous weather the past month. It had turned now though. The sky was a roiling grey.<p>

"The department of mysteries," she whispered, leaning forward.

Hermione didn't dare speak it fully aloud. Snape looked directly down on her as she drew close, his angular face a blank mask.

"Have you ever seen it?"

"Yes," he said simply, his spine especially stiff. She didn't press him.

"Well, you might have seen then, in one room there's a stone arch on a podium covered with a veil. I feel so stupid to have forgotten. Not to have forgotten, but to have not made the connection! It was in a room called the Death Chamber! When Sirius Black fell through, he was given up for dead. Voices can be heard behind it by some... I didn't hear them but Harry could. Perhaps because of his close connection with death. It may be a gateway to the underworld!" Severus sucked air through his teeth. She hoped that was a positive sign. "The thing is... it doesn't match with the accounts we have that say a person needs to be holding it open."

He said nothing but his eyes glazed over with thought. A burst of lightening, followed by the soft rumble of thunder and steady patter of rain filled the silence. Hermione ran a finger along the cracks in the workbench, heart beating rapidly as she let the thought sink in.

"We have to find out more about it..." she continued. "It may not match the exact design of Ithala's memory. I cannot recall exactly how it looked clearly enough. It was a while ago. But I remember that it looked decrepit..." She took a deep breath and made a concious effort to slow down her speech. "If the gate was tied to a wizard or witch that had opened it, then they'd have to be hundreds of years old..."


	6. Eckhert

_Sorry for the delay. Despite being a lover of the depth and complexity a romance with Severus would offer, I have been utterly smitten with Dragon Age's Cullen of late. A chiselled knight with a tortured past, uncertain he can ever be loved and as vanilla as they come, he nearly made me forget about Alistair... Until I heard Leliana's song on youtube and remembered **everything**... (Sigh.)_

_Ignore my rant. Being overly saturated with vanilla romances reminded me of how I neglect Severus._

* * *

><p>Hermione tugged on the ends of her hair as she waited for his response, listening to the sounds of the storm. However, when he spoke his words were not what she expected.<p>

"There is something I have yet to show you. It was a gift from Minerva. Remain there!" he barked when she moved to follow him. He glared, rooting her to the spot as he approached the penseive and cleared it of a plethora of memories. As he did he muttered, "I have not seen that particular room for myself though it would make sense that if the ministry knew of a gate, it would possess one. The aim of the unspeakables is to explore the mysteries of life, death, time... the almost-impossible questions. That would mean they have _very_ desirable information. As for its appearance, there's every chance that the memory we saw was tampered, exaggerated with natural human error and embroidery." He shook his head and his words trailed off into a mutter Hermione had to strain her ears to catch. "Of course we can't be sure the unspeakables didn't build it themselves. But I have an inkling they found... well, you will shortly see."

He turned slowly, adjusting his robes with a sharp gesture and staring pointedly at her. She blinked back.

"Well?"

"Er..." She was at a loss.

"Join me." She snorted as she joined his side. As if she were a legilimens! He swept a long pale hand over the penseive, inviting her in first. Giving him a last glance she pressed her face into the misty fluid.

A moment after she found her feet, she felt Severus join her side, a solid presence in the mist. Focused on the emerging scene before her, she realised they now stood side by side over Minvera's shoulders as she sat in an armchair of a large manor house, facing a frail looking wizard with a wispy goatee sipping noisily on a delicate pink china cup of tea.

When he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out but a quiet rasp.

"Agnes wasn't supposed to tell me about her work but every now and then a little something would slip out. If I told her she'd catch her death she'd say something like 'you can't, I've tried'. Very odd little things. But when her own mother died she broke down, did Agnes." He shook his head sadly and took another sip. "Told me everything. She wasn't supposed to say, but she was planning on doing something she shouldn't and if she didn't come back she wanted me to know where she'd gone. To the land of the dead, or the plane of the dead... something or some-such where the dead all exist." The man paused and looked at Minerva doubtfully. "You think I'm a senile old man, don't you?"

Minerva calmly placed her cup and saucer to one side before looking him straight in the eye and said primly, "Not at all. You know that I've worked at _Hogwarts _for many years? I've heard stranger truths."

"I don't remember much of what she told me." The man stroked his beard wisp and looked guilty as he added, "Truth be told, I wasn't fairly listening. I thought she was babbling, grieving too hard, I'm sorry to say. But she was mostly talking about a gate that some lady had made to the, you know, the dead... place... and then one day, instead of dying, she had just... gotten tired! And she would say that the lady who made the gate, she walked straight through it. Never came back. That meant it'd be open for eternity for anyone to walk through. Problem is, she was the only one who knew _how_ to get back."

Minerva tilted her head. The old man nodded.

"They lost so many people through the gate, those who had thought they'd cracked the secret. When she started talking more, she told me they had a wall of photos of those who snapped and tried to walk through, convinced they'd be able to come back. She told me that too. And dogs. They liked to send dogs, apparently. Agnes never made it through to try and get back though. Somehow they knew what she was planning. After that they apparently laid off studying it, or if they didn't they're looking for new ideas before they try again because they covered that thing up with cloth and left it to rot. Fitchett told me that at her funeral. Was a good friend of Agnes' before she snapped."

Hermione jolted when she felt Severus' long fingers wrap around her upper arm.

"There's more," he said smoothly, "but it is of no interest." And with that he pulled them both back into the cold dank air of his dungeons. Even though it was now spring outside and warm despite the rain, Hermione had to summon a fire to heat the room and stop herself shivering. When she turned she found Severus watching her with a peculiar expression. That intense look, could it be excitement?

She plumped for her favourite seat and waited for him to join her before she let the questions and ideas burst forth. He calmly watched and waited for her torrent to die down, a flicker of a smile touching the corner of his lips as she spluttered, stopped and started mid-sentence and distracted herself with every other word.

"But that could have meant that- Oh but that would be impossible! Perhaps the story of Ithala is the beginning of an end, the secret died with her but she left the door but not the key. But then that's more than before. I mean we didn't have the door let alone the key. We know what it is now. This will change everything about our pot- wait, no. No, it won't! It's still a metaphorical reel. But the department of mysteries must surely have tried that before us. They failed. We could try to find her ourselves... She might tell us the answer. Is the risk worth it? Forget the risk! Is there even really a way? There must be... Ithala managed it. Oh... I... I just don't know what this means."

"Are we done?" he asked with a sneer as if to a child.

"Well-"

"Granger!" he snapped. She started. "It is a revelation, yes, but it serves only one purpose: to inform us. Now we know the capabilities, that a doorway can be kept open forever, we must use this our advantage. That is all." He leaned his face to hers and stressed, "_We must, neither of us, seek the arch in the department of mysteries_."

"But-"

He smacked his palm against the armrest. Hermione shrunk as he stood and loomed over her, eyes piercing, normally sleek hair slightly ruffled.

"No. You must not." Hermione swallowed and looked away. "As you just pointed out, Ithala was the only one successful in returning and she never used a pre-existing door. It throws in more unknowns than we already have to work with. We must learn from this to create our own. There must be some means of procuring some of what was learnt of the arch from the Ministry. But until then we will continue as before. Is that understood?" Hermione did not like his words one bit, and felt a rising rage at his authoritative manner but the way in which he spoke, steady, engaging, without callousness, and looking to her for agreement made it very difficult to fight back.

A thought occurred to her.

"It can't be a hallucinogens!" He flinched. "Ithala would still need to be under its influence in order to keep the gate visible to the world. It has to be transport magic."

Severus visibly winced but nodded.

"It appears that this time..." he muttered through gritted teeth, "you were right."

* * *

><p>The department of mysteries. It was all Hermione could think about. Her thoughts were now possessed, as she remembered Harry's had once been, by visions of descending the ministry to its secret depths and making her way through the maze of dark corridors to the one that held her prize.<p>

She was desperate to see it, not that seeing it would do much good if she couldn't even touch it. More than anything she was desperate _to ___know__. She always had a hunger for knowledge but that steady burning flame had flared up and now raged at the walls of her heart. The only thoughts that survived, like a soothing balm, were those of Ginny, Minerva, Parvati and Severus.

Hermione brushed some of the hair from her eyes and set back to work marking charms papers from the fourth year students. The Hufflepuffs were putting the other houses to shame this year, and she remembered what Minerva had told her about the sudden drop in Gryffindor points since Severus' return. She thought briefly of Professor Flitwick with a small smile as she marked, the way he used to topple off of his stack of books with excitement. As a teacher, Hermione did nothing so endearing.

After an hour, when she eventually grew tired with school work, she decided on fulfilling a promise she had made to Ginny. That meant a trip to the greenhouses to unearth Neville. It really had been too long since she had seen him. Before Severus returned, she had made a point to visit him, otherwise he would rarely see anyone other than students.

She wiped the nib of her quill and set it to one side, left the parchments sprawled across her desk and donned her cloak. A trip to the dungeons could wait until tomorrow. Her obsession with the department of mysteries was pervasive and becoming all-consuming. Perhaps Severus suspected the true nature of her thoughts. Though she tried everything to assuage his instincts, she still caught him glancing at her from the corner of his eye whenever she worked beside him, subtly frowning.

What was the harm in her fantasizing about visiting the gate? It wasn't as though there were any way to act on these dreams. And she had given it considerable thought. If their potion was at a stage where the transportation element had been successfully included... then maybe... well, it just _could_ be conceivable.

But the fact that she had been right had actually set them back further. There were very few potions ingredients with transportation properties and they were often erratic at best. Now that she knew of Severus' technique to increase specificity of ingredients that meant they had a hope. But there was so much research to do first... and, her stomach twisted, how many more dances before they found the winning concoction?

A bitter glow held the sky behind a layer of fog and a drizzle so fine that she could barely feel it settle on her cheeks and dampen the frazzled wisps of her hair.

On opening the door to greenhouse five she was greeted with a very muddy hug.

"Hermione! It's been ages since you last visited!" Neville gasped, breathless from the small jog into her arms.

"My doors are always open to you, Neville, you know that." He gave her a small sad smile, the lines of his face creased with dirt. She couldn't place her finger on it, but somehow Neville appeared to be ageing before her eyes. His dark green robes were worn at the edges and his hair in need of a trim, ragged and in his eyes. Much like Harry.

"Every day it gets a little harder to find the strength to get scrubbed up and leave the greenhouses..." Hermione tried to hide her frown of concern. "Not that there's any need to!"

"Ginny would very much like to see you..." Neville's smile faltered. He wiped his brow with his dragonskin glove, smearing an unusual lime jelly in its place.

"Would she... Would she..." he mumbled, busying himself swapping pots of seedlings for optimum sunlight.

"Yes, she would. You must take a trip to the burrow soon," Hermione said firmly. Reaching into her pocket she added, "She also had a message for me to pass on."

He looked up and cocked his head as she pulled out the sealed letter. She watched him open it with baited breath.

"Do you know what's in it?" Hermione shook her head, achingly curious at Ginny's strict instructions that it was for Neville's eyes only. However, he had clearly missed any hint of secrecy in the letter because he frowned and looked up, waving the parchment before her nose. "It's a list of ingredients."

She averted her eyes but couldn't help noticing that indeed it was.

When Severus stepped into the bookshop he inhaled a lungful of sweet air and sighed. There truly was nothing like it. He owned his fair share of books, enough to rival the entire shop and all it housed in its storeroom, but the air in a bookshop always had a distinctly delicious musk to it.

He lifted his head to the table displaying the latest arrivals. There were few books that Severus wanted that he didn't already own and there was nothing on the majority of shelves for him, he was certain. But he made a point of examining the latest publications on the off-chance something valuable or different had made its way to print.

Picking up the first book he spied, he glanced at the title, gave it a snarl of disgust and replaced it using a forefinger and thumb . Weren't there enough books on magical ways to snare the perfect groom?

He heard the door chime as he ran a finger over the next spine thoughtfully. He thought nothing of it until a voice by his side enquired: "Severus?"

He frowned and wheeled on the voice. A stout man with stubble and a squashed brown hat gave him a short nod.

"Eckhert."

"How are you these days," the squat man asked. Severus responded with a sour look. "The usual then."

"And yourself?" Severus asked, returning his gaze to the books. There was very little reason for the two of them to talk. Severus had hardly encountered the man more than twice in his life. He wondered vaguely why he had not simply pretended they were unacquainted.

"Nothing of substance..." Eckhert said fornlornly. "The ministry is awfully quiet these days." Severus paused for a fraction of a second as he reached for a new book. The ministry? Which department had he worked in, he wondered.

"Are you in the same division?" he asked casually, deciding to pursue the route of conversation without appearing too interested.

"No, no," he beamed. Severus raised an encouraging brow. "Moved up the food chain, I have! They're passing a law I wrote on wand production regulation next Thursday." And just like that, Severus lost interest and his eyes refocused on the object in his hands. This one might just be worth buying. "Are you interested in working for the ministry?"

"I've rejoined the teaching staff at Hogwarts," he said, stepping away towards the shop assistant, hoping their transaction ended there but the stout man followed.

"Oh, very good, very good... They would certainly be able to find a use for you at the ministry though. A great hero, such as yourself."

Severus stopped short and frowned. Eckhert nearly stumbled into his back.

"I've never been fond of bureaucracy..." he muttered.

"I was thinking something more practical," the voice behind him piped up.

"I've also no desire to be an auror," he added, wondering if the man might just suggest it for him.

"There might be a vacancy in one of the more secretive departments, research and the like."

Severus turned.

"You are too generous."

After purchasing their wares, the two of them made their way to the nearest pub and Eckhert knocked back several ciders while Severus nursed a half glass of firewhiskey, taking the occasional non-sip, keeping his steady, unerring gaze fixed pointedly on the now reddened ministry member. He had brought out his wand and was drawing shapes of the various things he believed the unspeakables were designing. Severus believed nothing of it. The man was such a braggart that any classified information could never have been passed to him. Of that he was certain.

Whether or not this man could officially offer him a job was another matter. If it were true that he could then it also stood to reason he had contacts within the department of mysteries.

Severus tried to be artful but the man was now set on telling dirty stories.

"And then her robes just split! Like that!" he guffawed. "Beautiful shape, she had. You'd think a celebrity might be less attractive in real life."

Severus gave the man a dark look. He had just about reached the limit of his patience. He decided on a more blunt approach.

"Have you been in the department of mysteries?" Eckhert stopped mid-sentence and blinked, confused, still caught up in his story.

"Yes, once."

"Did you see much?"

"A few rooms..." he shrugged. The flickering candlelight revealed the uncertainty in the furrows of his features. Severus suspected he was considering how much he should embellish the experience with false tales of wonder. Guiding him straight to the point, he continued with a particularly inelegant prompt.

"I heard of a room with an arch. The one that supposedly claimed Sirius Black?"

"Yes, most people have heard of that... And I _did_ see it." Severus took a sip and offered an encouraging hand for Eckhert to continue. "I don't see the point of giving that thing an entire room to itself," he shrugged. "There's plenty of room to cram in other stuff around it. They keep everything else so bloody messy. But I'm clearly missing something."

Severus knocked back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down on the table as he stood, making an empty promise to meet again some day.

So that was the end of that then.

"Knight to F7," Hermione said, crossing her fingers that the chess piece would listen to her this time. Severus tilted his head.

"That is too cruel to your piece." She couldn't for the life of her understand why. Her confusion must have been apparent because he elaborated. "F7 is widely accepted as the weakest square for black. But I see you did not know this." She shook her head and blushed a little. He offered her a wry smirk. "I must say that I wish we had played together previously. It's unrelentingly entertaining to have found something you struggle with."

Hermione simply bit her lip. She couldn't waste precious thought on him and his attempts to provoke her. She needed all her concentration.

"Queen to E3," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. The ruddy piece didn't so much as blink at him, let alone question his motives, she noticed.

That they were taking a break from research was an unusual thing. An unusual thing, but a blessed thing. It was a relief to be in his rooms without having her neck growing stiff from pouring over texts. However, that Severus had requested the game struck her as a ruse. Neither of them was good at being direct with the other. She had begun to suspect that he had something to tell her over the last days. He kept drawing breaths as if to speak, catching her eye then looking away. But while she waited for him to speak, their conversation never strayed from the game at hand.

She looked up at him and felt a flicker of annoyance. He wasn't even paying attention as he tore her strategy to pieces. A copy of the Daily Prophet was discreetly placed on his thigh and he was browsing with some interest.

"Anything worth knowing about?" she asked, stretching and deciding she had had enough of being beaten.

"Not particularly," he muttered, his black eyes raising to meet hers, glancing briefly at the board. "Shall we continue another time, then?"

"Yes..." she agreed half-heartedly. He folded the paper and set it to one side. With the turn of his head, the light caught his sleek hair and Hermione had an unwelcome flashback to the fantasy of slipping her fingers through it before their hallucinated kiss. The thought seemed so out of place to their new friendship.

He noticed her daydreaming as he swept past the arm of her chair to examine the multiple potions simmering away on his workbench.

"Something bothering you?" She shook her head vehemently. "Then would you mind assisting me?" From his tone it clearly wasn't a question. Hermione hurried to join his side. He ran a bony finger down the instructions, a seven foot roll of parchment they had created and tapped it twice when he was satisfied. "It is, once more, time for the billywig stings."

* * *

><p>Excerpt from <em>Cross-Cultural Myths: a study of legends in muggle and magical society<em>**:**

_Ithala, as she is most commonly referred to, was considered to be the greatest female sorceress of the Dark Ages and was a great exception to the rule, being accepted amongst muggles for her talent. She repeatedly performed great feats for the sheer spectacle. Muggle records cannot be verified. However, if only half of what has been recorded by unbelieving eyes is true then this alone would put her powers on a level with some of the greatest wizards of the modern age._

_Sources suggest that she was an attractive woman and this is possibly the result of a powerful glamour. Most accounts that mention this also suggest she was a great seducer of muggles, both male and female. Again, the use of magical devices here cannot be verified._

_Magical accounts are few and far between. According to these, Ithala had no interest in entertaining competition and rarely accepted the company of those she could not impress. However, even here her magic is recorded as unlike any that had ever been seen before. She used no wand. Strongthorpe of Hastings claimed once that she had braided unicorn hairs to her scalp._

_Her skill coincided with the rise in written texts on magic and she is considered a pioneer for education in the magical arts before the advent of magical schools such as Hogwarts. Unlike the more well-known pioneers, Ithala differed by believing in educating the muggle population. _

_Aside from this, she is rumoured to have traversed the depth of the underworld and returned alive._

* * *

><p>Hermione ran her hands over the flask that had arrived with the owls yesterday morning: a gift from Ginny with a note that needed some time for her to fully digest.<p>

Taking a deep sigh, she lay both on the open tome on her desk, snuffed out the candle and changed into her robes. If ever there was a time to steady her nerves with drink, now was that time. Severus might even be gracious enough to share his firewhiskey... if she caught him in a good mood, that was.

A twitter of birdsong wafted in through the open window. It made Hermione rethink her attire. Spring was ripe in the air and though the cloud cover rarely broke, the sun was making itself known once more. Even in the dungeons. As she reached for the door she cast a concerned look at the bottle and letter as she redressed. She shrugged and tried to push it from her mind. She did, however, cover the letter with a few thick pages before stepping out into the hall. A nervous precaution.

Her thoughts were so misaligned that she didn't notice Peeves until she was practically on top of him. He leered at her, wrinkling his nose.

"Not now, Peeves," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. By some grace unknown he simply bowed aside and let her pass. "Thank you," she muttered. It was only once she had walked down two flights of stairs that she remembered she was a teacher now. She should have stopped to see what he was up to. This was not the first time.

"Why are you lingering in the halls?" Severus asked, sliding into view from behind her, arms laden with books. She started. His steps were deathly quiet.

"Here, let me help you," Hermione said, taking the top of his pile from him. He nodded stiffly by way of appreciation. They made their way down to the dungeons in companionable silence. She felt a compelling need to watch him as he strode along beside her. It was sudden and overwhelming need and it scared her into fixing her eyes dead ahead instead. She had thought this was long behind her, this silly awkwardness around him. Evidently her body had a mind of its own because she felt her cheeks burning quietly with embarrassment. Ever since she had received Ginny's letter she had been dwelling on that hallucination whenever her mind wasn't on the Death Chamber.

Once in his rooms, she followed his lead in setting the books down on his desk. A curious scent of cinnamon hung in the air.

"Have you altered the recipe?" she frowned, waving a few candles to life with her wand as she examined the work bench and its many potions.

"A little," he responded tersely. "Do you object?"

"Of course not," she murmured, noting the new hues visible in the fumes rising from those that simmered softly. "And the heat of the flame?"

"Lower. Longer times at lower temperatures continue to show promising increases in potency," he said, sweeping behind his desk and sinking into his leather chair. His face was especially pallid.

"And you are sleeping well enough?" His eyes locked on hers.

"That," he hissed, "is not your concern." She closed her mouth and turned her back on him, investing all her attention on the parchment lined with scratchy handwritten notes. She didn't doubt for a second that his sleep had been affected the same way hers had. They had come so far that her heart raced with excitement. The end felt so close. Yet they both knew that there was still much to do, months of work. But that didn't stop the hope keeping her up at night, pacing her rooms and staring wistfully at the night sky.

Seeing it in Severus' face saddened her greatly. She had found him looking youthful and restored and had managed to return him to his old drawn self within a few months. Hope had a way of destroying a person sometimes. And it may be destroying her more than she realised, which brought her thoughts back to the flask Ginny had sent her. If there could be a potion of less use, Hermione couldn't guess it. But, knowing Ginny, there was a valid purpose behind it.

The Elixir of Deepest Longing, the label had read.

"May I?" she asked hesitantly. Severus raised his head and followed her finger to the liquor in his cabinet and he nodded, a frown on his features. Relieved, she poured herself a large glass of firewhiskey, taking a quick sip before replacing the stopper in the flask. "Suppose we could simply walk into the department of mysteries, no questions asked..." she pondered aloud, ensconcing herself in an armchair by the empty fire.

"To what end?" he snapped, wiping excess ink from his quill.

"To get our hands on their books." Surprisingly, he agreed that it would be ideal without offering any accompanying jibes or put downs.

She quietly charmed her glass to refill itself and proceeded to drink, listening the comforting sound of Severus' scratching quill.

Severus could not stop his mind from wandering. His power of focus had left him. The years since his need for occlumency had dulled his skills and now his thoughts ran rampant, not that he had need to stop them until now. Trying to ignore the swaying woman on his chair was becoming an impossible task. That she continued to draw long gulps from her glass told him she wanted to drown her troubles, not that he understood why she should have need to all of a sudden. Something must be bothering her.

And he had yet to tell her about Eckhert.

With a rallying snort, he tore his eyes away from Granger and back to the books he had had special ordered by way of owl, absorbing himself so utterly that when Granger stood and broke his concentration the sky had darkened outside.

"Arewcomintadinna?" she burbled, barely managing to string her words into a coherent sentence. Dinner... she must have been drinking all day. Where had the time gone?

"You are drunk."

"Abs-lute-ly NOT," she said, trying hard to enunciate her words. Sighing, he laid down his quill and got up to guide her to the sofa. He summoned a blanket and pillow for her. If she had any objections she was too far gone to speak them. It seemed as though she struggled to keep her eyes open. Severus counted his blessings that alcohol only rendered her sleepy and not raucous, not that he could imagine Granger raucous. Her grip on his arm weakened and he wrapped a supporting arm around her as he helped her into the makeshift bed. She no longer bothered trying to open her eyes.

As he gently removed his arm from beneath the weight of her body, she reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a soft and gentle kiss on the lips. "Thanks, Ron," she smiled, releasing him and rolling over. Severus could not move. The sensation of her lips continued long after their absence.

_Thanks, Ron._ Like a knife in his suddenly racing heart.

He cursed himself.

Then he cursed Weasley, standing up, suddenly disgusted. Marching from the room, he locked the bedroom door with a quick ward, threw his robes off. The feeling pumping through his blood was familiar. It felt like rage. Why this sudden outburst of passion for a woman he had never pursued? Arms.. lips... pressure... soft smile. His mind would not stop replaying the moment from when she had had wrapped her arms around him to the gentle pressure of her mouth, the whisper of her breath, bitter from whiskey, against his face. The warmth. How seductive the sensation of a warm body... He was only human. He was only human and that _burned_ him. The sense of rejection brought back foul memories. How frail this human heart that refused to stop beating... How ridiculously frail.

It was then that he decided that if a job at the Ministry became available, he would have to take it. There was no choice for him.

Stepping before the full length mirror he examined the pallor of his naked form, so stark against the jet black hair and the deep purple gashes that ran down his neck to his collarbone. So lean, fleshless... What woman would want him? He snarled at the reflection.

There was no hope of sleeping tonight, so he lay himself on the bed covers. He tried to clear his mind of all thoughts as he ran a hand down his stomach and beyond, to pretend for a moment that he was wanted by someone.

* * *

><p>Hermione did not want to remove her cloak, but stood shivering before a perplexed Potions Master with a hand outstretched. Though the trees were once again lush with leaves, the wind today cut through the gaps and whipped at her skin.<p>

"Granger, why do you hesitate?" His voice seemed far away.

"I..." She inhaled and closed her eyes. "I'm afraid..."

Severus reached a hand into the depths of his robes and withdrew a small flask, holding it up to the sunlight that spilled into the clearing with a forefinger and thumb.

"I have the antidote for the ageing potion right here, should the effects fail to reverse in time." Still, though he spoke with confidence in his eyes, her stomach turned at the thought of bringing her body closer to death without the hope of crossing the gate.

Repeating her earlier fears as she removed her cloak, she mumbled that Ithala had not done the same.

"We know that."

"_And the results of this test will not only show if the potions continues to work when combined with other time altering effects but if it works at all when combined with other potions rather than spells_," she muttered, before he could repeat these facts to her. It wasn't a question of logic. Her resolve was beginning to fail her. She felt this but could not admit it when they had come so far. And Ginny's gift still played tricks with her mind. What would she find when she drank it? That this was a shallow wish masking a deeper longing? It filled her with dread. There was only so long she could resist unearthing the terrible truth.

He raised a brow and asked, "Would you rather I drank it?"

Hermione sighed as she approached him and stepped into his stiff embrace. She reached for his hand as the other found its way to the curve of her waist.

"That's very gallant of you but you know that this potion is specifically female."

He snorted.

"As far as we know," he sneered.

She nodded, "... as far as we know."

And with that he started the music and swept her away into her thirties and forties. All the while she clung to him, kept her eyes shut, and waited for it all to end. She felt her skin begin to dry and crack as wrinkles grew into her flesh and the growing weakness that eventually stiffened her knees and forced Severus to slow his pace.

She believed herself well into her eighties when she heard a sharp inhale of breath.

"Is it reversing?" she asked hopefully, then uttered a gasp at the sound of her own rasping voice.

"No," he said quietly. Panic filled her. "If you do not think you are able to continue, you should consume the antidote now."

"How old am I?" she dared to ask.

"I believe you are in your late seventies."

She shuddered but surprised herself by answering, "Then there is no need to stop yet."

"Very well."

She felt the robes envelop her closely until she was nearly tucked into his elbow and he proceeded to dance with great care, as if afraid of breaking her. She had no desire to reopen her eyes.

The stiffness in her bones increased until she believed that if Severus were not supporting her she would surely tumble into a broken heap. She wasn't even sure she had a voice to speak and ask him to stop any more. She was sure she was well into her hundreds.

With great effort she rasped a single "Please..." and Severus immediately stopped. For a moment she heard nothing, felt nothing, as though he was simply watching her but at last she felt him reach into the pocket of his robes and felt the curved glass lip of the vial. The few drops quenched her parched throat and like a soothing heat, youth returned to her limbs, strengthened her weakened bones and plumped her face.

With a great sigh she stepped back and stretched herself with relish, opening her eyes to see... nothing.

She blinked and raised her head, but still saw nothing. Not ground nor trees nor sky.

Her heart stopped as truth hit home.

"Severus?" she asked, voice quavering desperately. "I think... I think I'm blind."

Suddenly she felt rough hands grab her shoulders, catch her chin, pull back her eyelids and she felt his hot breath on her face as he examined her closely.

"Come!" he barked, snatching her by the elbow and nearly whisking her off her feet as he pulled her back to the broom. She stumbled as he jerked her into place awkwardly, any grace possessed lost in his hurry. Her heart pounded all the harder for the urgency of his actions.

"This can be cured easily... Can't it?" she asked, digging her nails into his upper arms as the broom took off. The music faded away into the distance without being muted and Hermione was certain he had left her cloak behind too.

Severus said nothing.

Three hours later, sitting as patiently as possible in the chair by Severus' fire, shivering no less with fear, she spoke to the darkness hoping for conversation to keep her spirits up. It was a nervous babble. She needed to hear a human voice and he refused to speak.

"I don't know if you were aware of my attempts to free the house elves around the time of the triwizard tournament." She offered a nervous laugh. "It was a sight to be seen. I had to bully my closest friends into helping, what I now know to be, a lost cause. Not that I like the current arrangements. Not one bit. But you have to know when to pick your battles. Or maybe not. The house elves may like helping people for nothing. But that's no excuse to walk all over them. It's the people who need help, to become better. It doesn't seem like people are ready to change their minds on this issue yet. I suppose you could alter them magically but then you get involved in metaphysics. The morality of altering someone else's morals magically... well it all gets very messy from a philosophical point of view. Not that philosophy should ever enter as an excuse for slavery-"

"I see it now," came Severus' deep voice from the endless silence Hermione had been speaking to. "The minor ingredients that interacted to bring on your blindness. I will have your antidote ready within a couple of hours."

She nearly cried with relief, but held back her tears.

"Thank you," she breathed with a sincere but wobbly smile.

"You are welcome. In the meantime would you like me to bring you a glass of water or," he paused, "firewhiskey?"

"I think I could use a drink... But I promise not to overdo it and pass out on your furniture this time."

"Very well," he said, deadpan, as he clasped her hand and wrapped it around a chilled glass tumbler.

She thanked him and settled back to sip slowly at her drink. The time ticked by and she no longer felt the need to fill it with chatter. Instead she listened to the comforting sound of Severus' footsteps and his robes trailing across the stone, the tinkering of tools and ingredients, the flickering of the flames and the soft bubble of thickening potions.

With her power of sight in the hands of Severus, she felt safe. This setback, on the other hand, was a cause for real concern. The two time scales appeared to alter in the presence of each other. The ageing process had been rapidly accelerated and the retracing potion had been greatly extended. They were not to be combined.

Staring blankly at the nothingness, Hermione once again found herself and Severus at a dead end. But before despair could overpower her relief, the sound of a tapping at a window awakened her from her thoughts. She heard Severus cross to the window, open it, the flutter of wings, the hiss of a scroll unrolled and a short bitter laugh.

Rustling steps approached her and she sensed him sit in the chair across from hers.

"There is something I have to tell you." Hermione swallowed and nodded. "I had a strange encounter with a squat acquaintance from the Ministry a fortnight ago. He made what appeared to be empty promises of work within the department of mysteries... I assumed he just wanted to flout whatever fame my name means in the face of his friends." Parchment rustled. "However, it appears I misjudged the man's influence as he seems to have found me such a position. It will commence in the summer so that I might finish out the school year. Being famous has some advantages." It seemed too much to take in. A job... The department of mysteries. Being left alone, the thought made her stomach sink with fear... but the possibilities!

Hermione dearly wished to see his expression. There was a light touch of fingertips against hers, as he removed the glass from her hand.

"Will you...?" she asked, heart in throat.

"Yes," he said. "I will."


End file.
